Someone to Watch over Me
by Sweet Little Mary Sue
Summary: A woman's life hangs in the balance, with death and danger all around her. Can Eames enter the mind of a killer and discover her whereabouts before it's too late to save her? Eames/OFC.
1. Chapter One

Someone to Watch over Me

Sweet Little Mary Sue

Synopsis: Garrett McGill was scheduled to be executed in a week's time for the rape, murder and dismemberment of twenty-five women, but had the police found all of his victims? What if there was one who was being held, to be the first kill for McGill's protégé? Enter Dominic Cobb and his team of professionals, who are committed to the task at hand, but will they have enough time to reach their goal? Can Eames use his skills as The Forger to save her in time, or will it be too late? And can he set his own feelings aside when things take on an intimate tone for him, or will his personal conflicts threaten to destroy the mission, and the woman that he has fallen for?

Disclaimer: I own nothing in the _Inception_ universe. The only things that I can claim as my own are my OC's. I also borrowed the title for this story from the song of the same name, by George Gershwin, with the primary influence coming from the version that was performed by Katharine McPhee.

Please Bear With Me: I am the furthest thing from an expert where the _Inception_ world is concerned, so please keep that in mind as you read. I will strive to keep all of the established players in character as much as possible, but this is a love story, beneath all of the suspense and the terror, and as such, Eames will be a tad bit smitten and twitterpated by Sophie, so I can't say for sure how this will affect his personality. I will endeavor to keep things as saccharine free as I can, but I'm going to go ahead and apologize in advance, just in case I stray into the land of lovey-dovey a bit more often than I ought to.

Just So You Know: This story is rated **M** for violence, mild to moderate cursing and an eventual outpouring of citrusy smut, both limes and lemons.

Chapter One

Eames' POV

I'd heard it said, on more than one occasion, that the craziest of crazies looked as normal as could be, that they were the people who lived next-door, that they worked with you and shopped with you and sat in the pew beside you in church, and maybe that was true, but I don't think that there was anyone who'd say that Garrett McGill looked even remotely normal, not unless they were a complete nutter themselves, that is.

I didn't let on to the others, but I was relieved that we didn't have to be in the room with him, sitting anywhere near him, while he spoke with the warden. He wasn't supposed to see us, because that would monkey with whatever plan we devised, and I couldn't say what the others thought or felt, but I was grateful to have the one-way glass between us…though I had an idea that he knew that we were there, given the way that he kept looking directly at us, directly at _me_ and smiling.

"We've got an idea that there was one of your girls that you didn't tell anyone about," Nathan Burwell, the warden, said softly, but firmly, opening a manila folder and perusing its contents, just out of sight of the confessed madman. "We think that you're saving her, that you're keeping her hidden away, waiting for just the right moment….."

McGill's smile grew, and was paired with a twinkling in his eyes that sent a cold shiver racing up and down my spine. "Ah, my girls," he said, in a tone that a man might employ for a woman that he loved with all of the passion that he possessed, and that was a sound that made me sick to my stomach, because I knew what he'd done to all of his "girls". "Now, then, Boss, you know that I ain't the least bit ashamed of any of my sweethearts, so why in the world would I keep one all to myself?"

He was doing his best to keep his urgency for seeing the photo that was clipped to the file to himself, and he did a pretty good job overall, but I saw the tiny tells that he probably wasn't even aware he was making. His right eyelid twitched just a little, and he swallowed nervously, once, then twice, before he sat back in his chair, and I knew that it was all that he could do to keep from snatching the folder out of the warden's hands, though it would have been one hell of a trick on his part to do so, considering that he was bolted and strapped to his chair, to ensure that he couldn't move anywhere but forward or back a couple of centimeters at a time.

"Well, I think that we both know why you'd do that, McGill," the warden said, sitting back in his own chair and studying the file, as if this was the first time that he'd laid eyes on the contents, just to screw with the prisoner, if I had to guess, which said that he had bigger stones than I did, that, or he was a hell of a lot crazier than me. "I think that we both know that you have an apprentice waiting in the wings to take your place, and what better way for him to do that than to make this woman his first victim?"

McGill was staring at the folder, with a look of outright hunger on his face that had my stomach turning somersaults all over again. "That might be true, Boss, but I can't say with any certainty unless you give me a gander at her face. How am I to know whether or not she's one of mine, if I can't see what she looks like? C'mon now, Burwell, what's it gonna hurt if you show me her face, if you're so sure that I snatched her up, hmm?"

I knew that the warden was feeling just as sick as I was, I could see the disgust that was in his eyes, and I knew that it would go against everything that was in him to let McGill look upon the face of that poor woman, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and a retired police officer had staked his reputation on the idea that this woman was alive, but marked for death. That had to have been what he was thinking as he slid the folder across the table, at least, that was what I would have been thinking, and I was thankful that I wasn't the one who had to deal with the sick bastard…though my time for doing so wasn't very far away.

McGill's hands were bound up tight, but he still had the ability to reach out, with one finger, to touch the photo of the missing woman. "Hmm…I always did have a powerful weakness for the ones with big brown eyes," he said softly, trailing the tip of his finger as far as it would reach. "This one wouldn't cry in front of me, no matter how much I hurt her. I could see the tears that were in her eyes, they made them seem even bigger, but she wouldn't let them fall. She was so filled up with pride, but what good did that do her in the end….?"

I didn't like the way that he was speaking of her in the past tense, I didn't care for that at all, and I could see that Burwell didn't either. His face took on a look that said that he'd just taken a punch to his gut, and he was on the verge of panicking, but stopped when he saw the smile that was curving McGill's lips, a sickening, self-satisfied grin that grew even wider when he looked down once more at the image laying on the table in front of him.

"She was walking to the bus stop when I snatched her," he continued, still smiling, until he remembered something about that day, a something that made him frown, and almost, for just a moment, to pout. "I remember the way that she looked at me when I drove past her to admire the view. She looked at me like I was bothering her, like I was trash, and I didn't like that one bit, no sir. I circled her a few times, and it made me chuckle, the way that she kept walking faster and faster, until she was almost running, and once I was sure that it was safe to do so, I tapped her with my car and made her fall down, which was what I always did with my girls, to make them a bit more, _docile_, you might say."

I was leaning forward in my chair, staring through the glass at McGill, willing him to look at me, which was surprising, I suppose, when one considered the fact that the thought of him doing so had rattled me not too long ago. Nothing that he was saying about his tactics was surprising, I, like the rest of the team, had thoroughly studied his file and looked over the details of each and every case, but I hadn't had to hear his voice as I read the words, I hadn't had to see that gleam that was in his eyes, and his enjoyment rankled me, it enraged me, and my indignation tore my fear to pieces and took the place as the dominant emotion, so much so that I didn't realize that I was rising from my chair until I felt Dom's hand on my shoulder, holding me in place.

"We're not supposed to be here, remember?" he murmured, pushing down on my shoulder, to encourage me to take a seat. "He can't see us through that mirror, but a ruckus is bound to make him take notice, and that's the last thing that we need right now, don't you think?"

I knew that everyone agreed with him, I knew that they wanted me to sit still and keep my mouth shut, but I didn't want to stay calm and collected in my seat, I didn't want to keep my voice down, but I would do what was expected of me. This operation had the potential to be a cockup of colossal proportions, but there wasn't any reason for me to give them the opportunity to blame it on me, was there?

"Where is she?" Burwell asked, in a voice that was filled with a healthy, or, perhaps, a foolish dose of exasperation and rage. "What have you done with Sophie Evans, you sick son of a bitch?"

It was never wise to show your hand, it was always best to play your cards close to the vest. That was good advice, I knew that it was, but it wasn't easy to keep what you were feeling and thinking to yourself in moments like this one. This wasn't about money, or glory, this was all about saving a woman's life, and it was a task that was going to rest completely with me, and that was enough to make me break out in a cold sweat, because I was already teetering on the edge of losing control of my temper, so much so that it would make Burwell's slip seem small in comparison.

"Calm yourself, Boss," McGill said, sitting back in his chair, wearing a smug smile that practically begged the warden to plant his fist in the center of his face. "You're liable to give yourself a coronary if you keep on the way that you are. There ain't no reason for you to be fretting over Miss Sophie; she's safe and sound…for now."

Sophie's POV

Scruffy was really starting to live up to his name, but I suppose that was to be expected, wasn't it, after ten years of love and hugs and tears. I'd received him as a gift the day before I was taken out of my life, and he'd quickly taken on the role of my best friend, of my _only_ friend. He shared every moment of my life, he comforted and consoled me, he was my source of normalcy, he was my confidante…it was just unfortunate that he was a dog, a beagle, and a stuffed one at that.

I was sitting on my bed, holding Scruffy in my lap, stroking him and whispering to him. I'd finished all of my chores already, my bed was made, my makeshift bathroom was scrubbed and smelled wonderfully of bleach and pine cleanser, and my tiny kitchen was practically sparkling, which meant that I had nothing more to do to pass the hours, nothing but spilling my heart out to a tatty little toy beagle.

I would have liked to have been able to offer a change in the topics of conversation that we shared with one another, but unfortunately the life that I led allowed for very little variance in my day-to-day experiences. I hadn't seen the man who'd snatched me off of the street ten years before for some time…not that I was one hundred percent certain that it had been ten years. It could have easily been more than that, just as it could have been less, I had no way of knowing without a doubt, but I was at least partly sure that it had been a decade.

Good Lord…it sounded absolutely awful when I thought of it that way.

I was fairly certain that there wasn't any way that I could have painted things that would have made the circumstances that had surrounded me sound palatable, but I was all too familiar, painfully so, with how bad things _could_ have been. I don't know how many girls had moved on before me, but I did know that there were seven who'd done so since I'd joined the group. At one time I'd had a lot of company all around me, but they were all gone now. Sarah had been the first, Kelly had been the last, and now I was the only one waiting for my date to arrive, and I had a bad feeling, a sinking, horrible feeling that the time for me was quickly drawing closer and closer.

In my bolder, more foolish moments I might have been tempted to ask Jude how much time I had left. I might have confronted his staring and startling eyes and asked him when his master intended to do to me what he had done to all of the others, but I wasn't feeling particularly brash at that moment. I was frightened instead, and I was sad, and all I wanted to do was hide myself as best as I could, but I couldn't because Jude chose that moment to approach the door of my cell, and his face filled the space where the bars rested and he watched me, seemingly without blinking, with a look in his normally dead eyes that made my skin crawl.

He grew still, just like he always did, so much so that he didn't seem to move at all, for hours at a time, save for his eyes, particularly the one that twitched, and the slight rise and fall of his shoulders which proved that he was breathing. He'd never done this sort of thing in the beginning, when the others girls were there, not with me, and not with any of them, but lately it had become a regular thing, and for the past couple of weeks he made it a daily occurrence, one that lasted two hours, at the very least, topping out at five hours the day before the last.

When he'd first begun I'd been afraid that he meant to pull a Norman Bates move on me, staring in the room, lusting over me, so much so that he was driven to pleasure himself, only to murder me afterward for tempting him, but from what I could tell he never touched himself, he only looked. I suppose that he might have done so later on, when he was all alone, with no earthly being to witness his lust, but that was something that I preferred not to think about, if I could help it.

"Good afternoon, Jude," I said quietly, directing my gaze and the majority of my attention to Scruffy, because I knew that my keeper hated to be looked at, and my doing so against his wishes might inspire him to beat me. "How are you today?"

He didn't answer me, but I hadn't expected him to do so. In all of my time spent beneath the ground I'd never heard him speak, not once, I'd never even heard him utter a sound, but I knew that he could hear me just fine. I knew that from the same source that had provided me with his name, that being the man who was in charge of everything, and though it was undoubtedly a naïve hope that had me using his name when I spoke to him, I continued to do so, just in case he decided to be benevolent to me one day and let me go…as if that would ever happen.

"Is it a beautiful day outside?" I asked, in a manner that said that I was doing so because he was listening to me, even if I knew that he wasn't. "It seems to me that it might be spring, and if I was asked, I'd have to say that springtime is the best part of the whole year, because everything comes back to life, and is young and innocent and full of hope. What's your favorite time of the year?"

Once more he refused to answer, just as I had known he would, and I simply went on with my thoughts instead of waiting for him to acknowledge me. I'd had my fair share of experience with dealing with those who frightened me in my time before this one, and I was more than capable of ignoring him while he attempted to mess with my mind and with my nerves…at least, that was what I told myself.

"It must be dreadfully boring, spending all of your time here with me, one day after another, with no rest," I said, boldly sticking a toe into waters that would undoubtedly prove to be dangerous, if I was to linger too long. "Don't you ever wish that you had something more to do with your life, something honest, something honorable?"

I hadn't meant to say so much, I really and truly hadn't, but once my mouth got to going it completely disregarded my brain and went off on a tangent that was of its own devising. His displeasure wasn't exactly clear on his face, but I'd seen enough of him to know that I'd made him angry, and it took every last bit of bravery that I had to keep me rooted in place when he pressed his face against the bars of my cell for just a moment, resting his huge hands against the surface, before he moved away, and seemed to leave altogether, more likely than not to find a place to lick his wounds, even though I hadn't caused him any that could be considered even remotely life-threatening.

I stared at the empty spot for several moments, wondering if he'd be back, wondering what he would do to me, if he was to come back, and then I moved toward the door, treading very softly and very cautiously, until I was where I could lay my own hands on its cool surface, where I could look outside and all around, in the hope of catching a glimpse of him, so that I could know exactly where he was at as often as possible, only to have him move from his spot beside the door, just out of sight, focusing his one good eye on me while the other danced all about and made me swallow back a shriek of fear.

A/N: I know that Eames wasn't his usual charming self in this, but I figured that there would be plenty of time for him to be witty and debonair later, when he and Sophie meet face-to-face, which won't be for a few chapters yet.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Sophie's POV

Sleep was something that I had enjoyed at one time, it was something that I had reveled in, when my life was my own, but now it signified a time when my guard was dangerously down. I could remember the days when I would luxuriate in an afternoon nap, I could recall the way that I had loved to sleep when there was rain falling outside, but those days were long gone. I didn't take naps anymore, I never heard the rain fall, and I missed those times, I longed for them, even though I knew that it did no good to yearn for what I'd never have again. It hadn't taken me long to learn the routine of my new life, but the lessons had been harsh, ones that showed me that closing my eyes, even if I only did so for moments at a time, put me in a position where someone, that being Jude, might choose to take advantage of me.

I could feel him outside my door at night, waiting for me to drift off into slumber, and it was the thought of what he might do, of what he had done in the past, that kept me from closing my eyes. I would hold off the inevitable for as long as possible, until I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open any longer, leaving me to finally conk out from overwhelming fatigue, only to waken with a barely stifled scream of pure terror after a few minutes had passed by, and this was the routine that I endured each and every night, until I would literally pass out, and I couldn't say for certain what happened to me after that.

It was in the moments when I was struggling against the urge to close my eyes that I allowed a part of me, a very small, very weak bit of me, to emerge from her hiding place. It was then that I allowed myself to entertain the notion that everything would be better for me if they would just go ahead and give me the same end that they'd given to the other girls. Sure, I'd be dead, and God only knew what sorts of indignities I would suffer before I drew my last breath, but it seemed, in those moments of weakness, as though I'd been dying a little bit with each day that passed by, and it seemed the best thing that I could think of, if they'd just put me out of my misery…but then, like magic, I would come to my senses, and berate myself for being such a baby.

I would angrily wipe away the tears that had started to course down my cheeks, and remind myself that everyone, each and every person that inhabited the planet Earth was dying a little with each day that passed by, because that was part of life as a human being. I reminded myself of the girls that had been here before me, I remembered that Sarah had a voice that you would have sworn belonged to an angel, I thought back on the way that Kelly had laughed softly at my jokes, I remembered the way that Renee would soothe those who would cry from the depths of her cell, because she couldn't bear to witness the pain of another. They were gone, they had been stolen away from me, and from all who'd loved them before, and it shamed me when I reminded myself of how fortunate I was to be drawing one breath after another, no matter what laid ahead of me, because I knew that any one of them would have been glad to be in my shoes, even if only for a moment.

This night was just like all of the others, and the only way that I knew that it was time to sleep was by looking at the clock on the table beside my cot. That was what told me that midnight had just came and went, because there was no dark sky for me to look at, there was no moon and no stars, and I had to rely on the clock to tell me what to do, well, that and the fact that I was starting to get tired, even though I was terrified by the idea of closing my eyes.

I performed my nightly ritual of washing my face and brushing my teeth, and then I slipped into an oversized V-neck t-shirt, one that was soft and roomy and almost as old as my time in this place. I knew that Jude was watching me the whole time, even though I couldn't see him. I could feel him just beyond my door, and I knew that those eyes of his were taking in every move. It was a realization that made me scared, so much so that I felt sick to my stomach, but I couldn't let him see that, I couldn't allow him to sense any weakness in me. God only knew what he might do to me, if he was to know the truth.

He stayed out of sight until after I'd knelt beside my cot and offered up a prayer. He waited until I'd slipped beneath my covers, 'til I'd kissed Scruffy goodnight and told him that I loved him. He didn't let himself be seen until after I'd rolled onto my side and waited, with my hands together beneath my cheek, for my drowsiness to take precedence over my mounting fear. That was when he moved to stand by the door, so that his body would block out the dim light that filled the corridor, and I could see him, from the corner of my eye, and felt a cold shiver of fear course through me, when it dawned on me, for the umpteenth time, that he could open the door at any moment, and my mind raced to grasp hold of a plan of action, of what I ought to do, if he chose to enter the room.

I told myself that I was imagining the ragged sound of his breathing, because surely I couldn't hear him, not with the distance that lay between us, could I? I told myself that it was my own breathing that I heard, because I could feel the breaths, quick and frantic, so much so that I was almost panting from fear, but for some reason I couldn't make myself believe that it wasn't him.

I told myself to be calm, I reminded myself that the same thing happened every night, and I'd survived, I'd made it through, but my heartbeat refused to slow down. It was all that I could do, to keep my head still upon my pillow, to face the wall, but I refused to look at him, because I knew that was what he wanted me to do. He wanted to see my eyes, he wanted to feed off of the fear that was undoubtedly there, just waiting to be seen, and why would I give him that satisfaction? I was determined to stay quiet, and to pretend that I was ignoring him…but then I heard the door open.

Have you ever had one of those moments when you knew that it was absolutely essential that you remained quiet, that your life more likely than not depended on you doing so, but you simply didn't have the ability to do so? If not, you are more fortunate than you can begin to imagine, if so, then you have my pity, because that was what I was enduring, that was what I was struggling with, and it was all that I could do, to keep my terrified sobs from escaping me, though, I suppose, I might as well not have bothered, given the way that the effort was causing me to shake and shudder.

It always astounded me, how such a large man could move so silently, but he'd crossed the floor and made it to the side of my cot without making a sound, and I couldn't help but whimper when I realized that he was standing behind me, hovering over me. I'd tried to stifle the sobs, to swallow them down, but my throat felt swollen, for some reason, and I couldn't force them down, no matter how hard I tried.

I knew now that I wasn't imagining the sound of his breathing, because I could hear each breath as it entered, then left his body. He initially sounded calm and collected, compared to me, but as time passed his breathing quickened, but it was not the sort of rhythm that accompanied fear, as mine was, but one that signified feelings that I didn't dare name aloud, not even in my own mind, even though I couldn't help but recognize them for what they were.

I'd never heard him speak, not once, in the ten years that I'd existed beneath the ground, and this moment was no different. He had no voice, he only had a presence, and it was one that frightened me to a point where I was almost hysterical. There was nothing that I could use to defend myself, save for the weapons that I'd been born with, and I tried to bolster my nearly nonexistent courage with the thought of sinking my fingers into his eyes, my teeth into his jugular vein, my foot into his balls, and it almost worked, I could have sworn that I felt a surge of bravery, but then his hand grabbed hold of my hip, giant and beefy, and flipped me onto my back, and I knew that it had all been in my mind, I knew that I'd lied to myself, and now I was being dragged back to reality and all that I could hope for was survival…though that tiny part of me wondered why I even bothered.

Eames' POV

I don't know exactly what I'd had in mind when I pictured Garrett McGill's house of horrors, but I had to admit that things looked much more, well, _normal_ than what I would have expected to find. We were ensconced in what appeared to be the basement of some large dwelling, in a dimly lit corridor, and there were several doors, each of which were locked from the outside, and I turned, very hesitantly, to look at the crazy man who was standing beside me and tried to smile, an action which faltered, then failed altogether, when he mimicked it.

"There was a time, not so long ago, when this hall was full of life, but I've sent all of the girls on, except for the one that I'm saving for Jude," he said, gesturing grandly, and I strove to fix an expression upon my countenance that would be similar to that which a man like Denton Clayton Newell, whom McGill believed me to be, would undoubtedly be wearing in moments such as this. "Would you like to meet her, sir?"

Who would have ever believed that the warden would be willing to allow us to do something that was surely a violation of a prisoner's rights? Of course, it was a slippery slope to begin with, to ponder the issue of what a man like Garrett McGill ought to have been able to expect, what he ought to know, without a doubt, that he could anticipate as an incarcerated man, when it seemed, at least, it did to me, that a vile bastard like him deserved no rights at all. They allowed him to breathe, at least, they would until his time was up, and he remained unmolested, safe within his cell…that is, he had, until I came calling.

"That depends," I said, forcing myself to turn slowly, and survey the scene, as if I was almost bored, a little sleepy, really, when the truth was that it took every ounce of my self-control to keep myself from racing door to door to search for her. "Is she worth my time, Mr. McGill?"

I knew from my research that Newell had been a very haughty and proper type, one who spoke with a genteel, southern accent, as opposed to the twang that signified McGill's less prosperous origins. He wouldn't be noticeably excited by the prospect of observing this woman, and he certainly wouldn't be giddy. This was old hat for him, and it was essential that I showed that, but I couldn't be too unresponsive either, because Newell had lived for, and thrived, in the glow of adoration from his admirers, and there hadn't been anyone who idolized him more than McGill. All in all, it was a difficult part to play, one that would have me indulging in a hot shower once it was over, but I was determined to pull it off. I knew that Sophie's life depended on me doing so, and I wouldn't let her down…I _couldn't_ let her down.

"Well, I'll be perfectly honest with you, sir," McGill said, leading me forward down the corridor, to a door that was guarded by a man that reminded me of a bullfrog, one which possessed an eye that twitched and jumped and refused to stay still, which unnerved me to the point where I was tempted to stare at him, until I remembered who I was supposed to be. "She's not a treasure like Jenna was, and she ain't a shining hope like Michelle, but she's certainly better than Carlie was…damn, but that one was a waste of my time, my one regret. But you wouldn't know about that sort of thing, would you, sir?"

I knew that Newell had raped, disfigured, murdered and dismembered at least forty women before he was caught, but there was a good deal of suspicion that said that the number was actually closer to sixty. His calling card was to set up a tableau that mimicked that scene out of _Gone with the Wind_, when Scarlett O'Hara was eating barbeque at Twelve Oaks, surrounded by a bevy of suitors, with department store mannequins taking the place of the admirers. The difference was that they were the ones partaking of the offerings, and what they dined upon was the poor woman that Newell had desecrated, who'd been posed as Miss O'Hara…it was enough to put me off of that particular film for the rest of my life.

"I've never been one to tolerate disappointment," I said, moving toward the barred window the covered the upper half of the door, while doing my best to avoid meeting the erratic gaze of the guard whom I assumed was McGill's protégé, Jude, not that it mattered, because he didn't know that I was there. "But thankfully there weren't many instances where I was inconvenienced by _disappointment_."

It was the sort of comment that an arrogant son of a bitch would make, therefore it stood to reason that it was something that Newell would have said. I placed my hands on the door and resisted the urge to flinch, both from the cold, and from the realization that I was peeping at a woman who might not be alive any longer, not in the real world, that is. I had a strong urge to be the one to save this woman, it would definitely be one of the worthiest thing that I'd ever done with my talents, it was possibly the only truly worthwhile achievement that I could credit to myself, and, even more than that, it would give this woman her life back, and that was the greatest prospect of all…provided that I didn't fail her, that is.

She was sitting sideways on her cot, with her back pressed against the cinderblock wall and one leg pulled up, with the other tucked underneath. She was dressed in plain grey cotton from head to toe, and her hair was pulled into a ponytail. Her face was plain, and when I say plain, I mean that she wore no makeup, not that she was unattractive, because I could see that she was very pretty. Her hands were filled with what appeared to be a small stuffed animal, a dog, which I saw was a beagle, on closer examination. She was talking to the pup, and smiling while she petted it and scratched its ears, and she was the very picture of happiness, or, that is, she would have been, if you didn't bother to look at her eyes.

I was a fair distance away from her, but I was close enough to see that there was fear in her eyes, pure, all-consuming fear, and I thought that it was amazing that she managed to keep it to herself, when it had to have been the only thing on her mind. I was intimate with the chilly presence of terror, I knew what it was like, to feel that awful feeling of dread take hold of you and refuse to let you go. There was a part of me that wished that she could see me, so that I might convey to her that I meant her no harm, but then I remembered who I was supposed to be, and I knew that it was best that she didn't know that I was there.

"She's quite lovely," I said, hating myself for speaking of her to the monster who'd taken her, but I could tell that he was waiting for my response, for my approval, so much so that I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd started to foam at the mouth. "Not a treasure, perhaps, or a shining hope, but certainly not a disappointment. It must be so upsetting for you, Mr. McGill, to know that you are going to be denied the privilege of sending this gift on her journey yourself, to know that you must entrust this honor to Jude instead. Are you certain that he is ready for such a tribute?"

He turned to look at his pupil, the living and breathing lump of flesh with alarmingly fitful eyes. The man hadn't spoken a word, he hadn't even given any indication that he was aware of his master's presence, but I could sense the danger that lurked within him, the evil and the menace, and I knew that he was just as deadly as his teacher, possibly even more so, if I dared to wager a guess, and that was a realization that made me fear for Sophie's life even more. Garrett McGill wasn't going anywhere, save, perhaps, for Hell, but the same could not be said for Jude. He was out there somewhere, with an innocent woman in his clutches, and she was depending on me to save her, and I would, or I would die trying.

He turned me and smiled, "You are the master, sir, and it shames me to say that I never reached your level, I didn't even get close, but Jude is different. He's a novice, that's true, where the human model is concerned, but he shows a lot of potential. To be perfectly honest, I fully expect that he'll surpass me in time…he might even leave you in the dust, before he's done."

I wasn't sure how I ought to respond to that sort of an observation, I wasn't completely sure how a man like Newell would have reacted. He'd been a mixture of complete narcissism and need, so more than likely he would have been somewhat offended by the notion that anyone could be his equal, let alone his superior, but he would have also been pleased by the praise that McGill was heaping upon him. The trick laid in finding the middle ground between the two, in balancing myself precariously on the tightrope of Newell's personalities, but McGill spared me in the end, and kept me from the danger of answering incorrectly…though the reason why would undoubtedly prove to be more of a detriment to myself, and Sophie as well, then a mistake on my part would have ever been.

"Now we've come to the fun part," McGill said, pulling two pairs of gloves from his pocket, one which were composed of rough brown leather, and the others of the softest, supplest black kid leather. "I know that you weren't all that fond of sharing, sir, but I ain't a selfish man myself. That being said, I'd like you to have a little taste of her before you leave, if you'd like. After all, how can I expect an honest opinion, if you ain't sampled the merchandise?"


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Eames' POV

Morris Raymond showed every of his fifty-three years and then some. I could easily imagine that there had been a time in his life when he'd been an imposing, bear of a man, but now he just looked tired and broken down, and every bit of the burnt-out detective that he was rumored to be. He'd been the lead detective, the one who'd been tasked with hunting Garret McGill down and ensuring that he would answer for his sins, once his partner, Lowell Givens, had suffered a massive heart attack and died. I suspected that he'd been under the impression that he ought to be left in peace, to rest and rebuild himself, now that McGill was slated to die, and so he might have been, had his partner not confided his suspicions about another victim, that being Sophie Evans, to his good friend, the warden of the prison, Nathan Burwell.

Burwell had wrestled a bit while with the promise that he'd made to his friend, the one that said that he would look into Sophie's abduction, the one that said that he wouldn't allow her to be forgotten, and that he would shed the light of justice on Givens' suspicions that there was one victim who was unaccounted for, and more than likely was still alive. It hadn't taken too long, just a week's worth of sleepless nights, and finally he'd made up his mind to do as his friend had asked, and I, for one, was very grateful that he had. The same could not be said for Morris Raymond, at least that was the impression that he gave me, as we sat across from one another, both of us sipping on the sewer sludge that the prison referred to as coffee, each of us sizing up the other, and, I suspect, finding something that was wanting.

"You've stated in your report that a thorough search of the area was conducted, that a profile was made of the killer, who we now know to be Garret McGill, yet in all of your searching and your studying, you never once came upon the facility where McGill has housed each and every one of his victims. Is that what you're telling us, Detective Raymond?"

Dom had insisted on handling the interrogation of Raymond himself, and I had grudgingly acquiesced to his suggestion, but only on the grounds that I was permitted to stay in the room, to listen, to observe, without saying a word, or allowing my disdain for the detective to show on my face or in my body language. I would have preferred to question him myself, to make him face the consequences of his slipshod investigatory skills with a painfully detailed report of what I had seen, but that was out of the question, as far as Dominic Cobb was concerned, so I sat back and kept my mouth shut instead, though I was fairly certain that Raymond had felt every last bit of my censure none the less.

"I don't know why I'm even bothering to explain myself to you, it's not like you're anyone with any sort of authority, but, eh, what the hell, it's not like it makes any difference now. We looked all over for the place where McGill was slicing and dicing the women that he snatched, but we couldn't find anything beyond his apartment, and I have a good idea that he wasn't doing his handiwork in that one roomed dump that he was squatting in….."

"And when you say 'slice and dice' and 'handiwork', I assume that you're referring to the brutal rape, torture, dismemberment and murder of twenty-five young women, is that correct, Detective?" I asked quietly, tightening my fingers, which had found their way to the sides of my chair during his explanation, until they started to ache. "And did it ever occur to you that some of these women could have been saved, had your department put a little more effort into locating the dungeons where McGill was housing his victims?"

I heard Dom sigh, one of those long, weary, thoroughly disgusted exhalations that told me that I was in for one hell of a lecture once we were alone. Raymond had leaned forward in his chair and was watching me with eyes that promised murder and mayhem, while a vein furiously pulsed and ticked in his forehead. I knew that I was supposed to keep quiet and let Cobb handle things, but reserving the right for silence didn't mean that one had the ability to do so, and I couldn't keep my opinion to myself, no matter what the consequences of my outburst might prove to be.

"'Dungeons' my ass," Raymond scoffed, curving his lips into something that would have been called a smile under different circumstances, but only if one ignored the look in his eyes and the sound of his voice. "He'd need something huge to house what you're talking about, and how in hell could someone like McGill, who didn't have two nickels to rub together, manage something like that?"

It would seem that Detective Raymond had fixated all of the resources that his limited brain afforded him upon one scenario, on one sole explanation, and he refused to acknowledge anyone and/or anything that didn't fit into his view of things. Granted, I'd never been a detective myself, but I thought that anyone worth half a damn as an investigator would have looked beyond the surface to see what laid beneath the cover that McGill had put into place.

"It may be difficult for you to understand, Detective, but monsters like Garret McGill always attract the love and devotion of at least one disciple, and McGill found that adoration and loyalty in a man named Jude. I saw him for myself, and I'm willing to bet that there's nothing that he wouldn't do for his master, so that is where we ought to start, if we hope to have any chance at all in finding Sophie before that crazy son of a….."

He'd been glaring at me, a hate filled glower that would have found me dead and buried, had looks truly had the ability to kill, but all of his hostility turned to humor as he interrupted me with laughter that grew by leaps and bounds, from what could have been called a giggle, to a chuckle, then a guffaw. It was the sort of laughter that could have caused incontinence and flatulence, if it went unchecked, but somehow I had an idea that I was hoping for too much that either, or perhaps, both, of those ailments would overcome Detective Raymond.

"Oh, that's right, I forgot," he sputtered, taking a momentary break from his cackling to ridicule me. "You went for a walk around these dungeons, with McGill as your guide, through the path of his _dreams_. You saw this Jude person, and the supposed victim, Sophie Evans, as well…through his _dreams_…isn't that right, Mr. Eames?"

He was trying to get me to lose my temper, I knew that, I recognized all of the signs, and as such I ought to have known better than to rise to the bait, but I did so none the less. I was proud of myself, because I managed to keep my seat, when what I wanted more than anything was to wrap my hands around his neck and silence his braying laughter. I reminded myself that he wanted me to react in that fashion, because that would give him all of the provocation that he would need to lock me up in a cell, and what use would I be to the team then…even more important, what use would I be to Sophie? I'd be none at all, and that was why I was going to be a good little boy, no matter how naughty I truly wanted to be.

"We use the target's dreams to gain access to their subconscious," Dom explained, taking a moment to shoot a warning look in my direction, as if I he honestly believed that I was incapable of controlling myself without him demanding that I do so…though, I suppose, now that I thought about it, he had good reason to do so. "We enter the picture through lucid dreaming, and in most scenarios our client does as well, but Garret McGill is unaware of the fact that he is being used to locate Miss Evans. That is why he was so willing to share with Mr. Eames, whom he believed to be a person that he'd long admired and respected, who he worshipped, you might say….."

"What a load of horseshit," Raymond said, in a voice that was still rife with a great deal of humor, the mean-spirited sort that no one appreciated, beyond the bastards who used it to demean and humiliate others. "You're just as nutty as the pretty boy is, aren't you?"

I assumed that I was the 'pretty boy' that he was referring to, but it was not a descriptive that pleased me in any way, which was appropriate, I suppose, because it was obvious that he hadn't intended his words to be taken as a compliment. I also didn't appreciate the suggestion that I was 'nutty', because I'd always taken a great deal of pride in the fact that I was responsible and levelheaded…most of the time, at least.

"It isn't _horseshit_, and I can assure that neither one of us could be considered _nutty_, Detective Raymond….," Dom began, only to be interrupted mid-speech, and not by the horse's ass known as Morris Raymond, but by me instead.

"It really is quite amazing to me that you manage to get any investigative work done at all," I said wonderingly, sitting back in my chair, and looking at the overgrown ape with a gaze that was meant to convey astonishment, though the meanest part of my personality couldn't help but hope that it showed a good deal of my contempt as well.

"What do you mean by that, Pretty Boy?" he asked, cocking his head to one side and raising one eyebrow, while Dom tried, in vain, I might add, to persuade me off the course of attack that I was on, but I refused to be swayed.

"Well, it seems to me that it must be quite dark where you are, and the atmosphere must be dreadfully unpleasant, the sort that possibly makes you ponder whether or not life is truly worth living at all, and it just amazes me that you persevere through it all, that you don't allow your, ahem, _condition_, to affect your ability to be a diligent investigator….."

"My _condition_?" he interrupted, clearly irritated, though there were hints of pleasure to be seen as well, as if he just couldn't help but be taken in by my mock flattery. "And what condition might that be, eh, Pretty Boy?"

His insistence on addressing me by that inane moniker was growing tedious and tiresome; therefore it pleased me greatly to needle him even further than I already had. "The one that finds your cranium inserted snugly in the furthest recesses of your rectum, of course," I said, biting back a chuckle as I spoke, and then another one, when I heard Dom groan and saw him shake his head from the corner of my eye.

"What are you trying to say, smartass….?"

Hmm… 'smartass' wasn't a very complimentary descriptive either, but it certainly beat out 'Pretty Boy' and 'nutty'. "I'm sorry; did I confuse you with words that are unfamiliar to you?" I asked, smiling from ear to ear as I watched his face, taking pleasure in the sight of the anger that filled every facet of his visage. "What I meant to say is that it's a wonder, a miracle, you might say, that you manage to get anything done at all, given that you seem to have your head lodged firmly in your ass…do you understand what I'm saying now, Detective, or will I have to dumb things down even further….?"

"Dammit, Eames, will you kindly shut up?" Cobb hissed in my ear, rudely interrupting me, despite the fact that it had to have been clear to him that I was on a roll, and it would have been the considerate thing to let me finish, no matter what the consequences of me doing so may have been.

"…..Because I will admit that it will be quite a challenge to do so, but I will endeavor, for your sake, if needs be."

It was not the first fight that I had started in my life. If the truth were to be told, I had picked several brawls in my time, and this was one that I was really looking forward to. Most times my opponents were those who'd had too much to drink, or someone who wasn't quite as skilled at cheating as I was, and it was a rare occasion, and a very welcome one, I might add, to have the opportunity to teach a much needed lesson to a bastard like Morris Raymond…it was just a shame that Dom, along with Nathan Burwell, were so determined to put the kibosh on my plans.

Cobb moved out of his chair to stand in front of me, as a matter of fact he nearly threw himself over me, and I couldn't help but take a moment to be touched by his protective gesture, in spite of the hullabaloo that had broken out in the room, the majority of which was coming solely from Raymond, who was doing his damnedest to pass bodily through Burwell in order to get to me.

"Wait a minute, wait a damned minute!" Burwell said suddenly, throwing Raymond back in his chair, and it tickled me to hear it creak and crack beneath his bulk. "Did you say that you saw a fellow named Jude, Eames? Are you positive that was the name that you heard?"

Raymond didn't take kindly to being thrown bodily into his chair, and who could blame him? It was bad enough, to suffer that sort of humiliation when you were by yourself, but a roomful of witnesses tended to make things one hundred times worse, at the very least. Of course, his curses of indignation didn't stop the warden from planting him back into his seat, very forcefully, when he made gestures that suggested that he was pondering yet another insurrection.

"I didn't just hear his name, I got an eyeful of him as well," I said, wondering, for one idiotic moment, why he was interested, until it dawned on me that it was because he recognized the name, he might have even had a face to go along with the name, and if that was the case, he might have had an address as well. "Are you familiar with him, Warden? He's a stoutly built lad, with one twitchy eye, who may or may not be a mute….."

"Hold your horses there, Hoss," Burwell said, giving Raymond a final warning glare before he moved away from him. "I've got a whole stack of letters from him to McGill in my office….."

"That means that you have his name and address," I said, feeling a burst of excitement at the idea of being so far away at one moment and now to be so close, or, at least I hoped that we were. "We can put together a group and take him into custody tonight, and we might even be able to find Sophie….."

"You're jumping to conclusions," he said, interrupting me in a voice that was tinged with regret, one that immediately killed the burst that I'd felt and made me feel heavy, as if I weighed half a ton, at the very least. "He didn't include his surname on the envelopes, just his Christian handle, and there was no return address either."

"Damn," I said, kicking my foot against the floor, then turning so that I could punch my fist against the wall, the potential damage to my knuckles be damned. I'd almost made contact when a hand reached out and took hold of mine, stopping me dead in my tracks and bringing to life several colorful curses that I didn't bother to stifle.

"I'll let you continue, if you'd like, but you might want to reconsider doing so, once you think about the fact that there might be a print or two to be found on those letters, don't you think, eh, _dah_-ling?"

It was moments like these when I was genuinely fond of Arthur. Truth be told, there weren't many times when I disliked him, if, in fact, I ever did. He was a pious little do-gooder in the best of times, and a by the book stickler at the worst, but there were times when I genuinely felt like giving him a huge hug…but I didn't. There was no need for me to give him anything that might be used against me in the future, was there?

Sophie's POV

I wasn't allowed a newspaper, a computer or a television, and certainly not a phone. I wasn't permitted to have anything that might give me access to the outside world and the news going on around me. In some ways it was a blessing, because there never seemed to be any good news to be heard or seen, if I remembered things correctly from my old life, but then there were other times, like the one that I was in at that moment, when it would have been nice to have some sort of window, no matter how small, that would provide me with a little knowledge about things that were bound and determined to set the course for what remained of my life.

I wasn't certain what was happening with McGill, but I assumed that he had been caught, which would have been a relief, or maybe he'd died, which would be even better. Of course, no matter what had happened to him, the fact remained that I was still stuck beneath the ground, with Jude, whose behavior grew creepier and more obsessive with each and every day that passed, and the fear that something awful was going to happen to me continued to grow stronger, until I was tempted to stay in my bunk and hide. But then I remembered that I wasn't weak, that I wasn't a coward, and that I would fight until the last instant, no matter what that moment held for me.

"You really like to rush from one emotion to another, don't you?" I murmured to myself, turning down the covers of my bunk, and then kneeling beside it, so that I could say my prayers before I endured a night of futile attempts to get some much needed sleep. "One moment you're wishing for death, the next you're preparing yourself for a _battle_ to the death. A shrink would have a field day with you, wouldn't they?"

It wasn't often that I indulged in laughter of any kind, but I couldn't help but giggle a little as I went through each step of my nightly routine. I finished my prayer and slid beneath the covers, pulling the blanket up to my chin, trying my best to convince my eyes to close, when suddenly I heard familiar steps outside my cell, slow, shuffling movements which told me that I was going to have a little company that night, and I couldn't stop the tiny sob that rose within me, and it shamed me to hear the sound of helplessness, just as it always would have, but especially now, given all of my earlier talk about being a fighter.

There was a foreign sound that accompanied his footsteps, a creaking noise, one that belonged to the cart that Jude was wheeling into my cell. There was a small television resting on top of the cart, along with a VCR, items that I recognized on sight, in spite of the fact that I hadn't seen either of them in years, and for one foolish moment I felt a thrill of hope, one that said that I would finally be given a link with the outside, but those feelings died a quick and brutal death when I saw the look in Jude's eyes. There usually wasn't much to be seen in his gaze, he was a pro at keeping his emotions to himself, but now I could see a faint excitement, a light that had nothing to do with anything good, and everything to do with things that were evil in nature, and I couldn't stop myself from scurrying back in my bunk, until my back was resting against the wall.

He noticed my movements and then he did the most startling, frightening thing that he'd ever done…he smiled at me, not a big, sunny grin, but a small, secret smile that sent a cold chill racing along my spine. He positioned the cart where I could see the television, and then he turned it on and pushed the play button. I don't know what I'd been expecting to see fill the screen, the possibilities were horrifically endless, but I hadn't expected to see Garret's McGill's face, and I certainly hadn't expected to hear the words that came out of his mouth, instructions you might say, that threatened to destroy all of the hope that I'd held onto until that moment.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Sophie's POV

My time was wearing down, the end was near for me, and I was blessed, because I had been chosen to be the first for Jude, the one who would bring him to the peak, the zenith that he'd been trudging toward his entire life. My sacrifice would make him realize his full potential, so that he might break free of the bonds that life had placed upon him and force him to take up the mantle of his true self.

At least, that was what Garret McGill told me, time and time again, until it seemed that my ears would bleed and I would scream, and I might have done just that, if I hadn't had enough self-control and pride left in me to keep me silent. Jude, the odious toad masquerading as something that was supposed to be a human being, kept moving back and forth in front of my cell, staring at me in a manner that could only be called lascivious, and it took a lot of effort, and a great deal of willpower to ignore him and pretend that I was the only one who was there.

Of course, the loony killer wasn't actually there with me and the slug, but his good friend Jude was happy to play his message for me, over and over, on a loop, hence the threat of hemorrhaging ears and shrieks of frustration. There was a part of me, a small bit of my well-hidden destructive side, that said that it would be best if I was to go ahead and die, because then all of my suffering and my fear would be over with, and then the fat worm called Jude wouldn't be able to taunt me any longer, but thankfully, the larger part of me, the one that was a fighter, and had more common sense, was still firmly in control of things.

I had heard the same words repeated so many times that I almost knew them verbatim, and I caught myself a time or two almost chanting them along with him, but thankfully I stopped myself before that raping, murdering son of a bitch's words passed through my lips. There was a great deal that I could live with, a lot which I'd learned in the past ten years, but what I couldn't endure, what I couldn't stand, was the notion that I would allow myself to act as Garret McGill's myna bird.

I was doing a good job, in my opinion, of pretending that Jude wasn't there with me, as a matter of fact, I think that I managed to fool myself into believing that he didn't even exist, but that was only as long as he stayed out in the corridor. It was bad enough, to put all of my effort into ignoring his glances, and the sound of his heavy breathing, but that was nothing at all compared to the task of keeping my body still, and holding my fear at bay when he walked into my cell, hovering in the doorway for just a moment, before he crossed the floor and took a seat beside me on my bunk.

This had been a week of firsts for me, which in itself was disconcerting enough, after ten years of routine, but even worse was the fact that all of these first time events were wrapped up in the slug with the twitchy eye who was now sitting beside me. For several moments he didn't move, he simply stared at me, in that lecherous fashion that turned my stomach and made me want to throw up, then suddenly one of his hands, those pale, fat claws of his, reached out and settled itself on my knee, as if it belonged there.

I'd managed to control my shudders up until that point, in spite of the fact that I'd suspected that I wouldn't be able to, but all of my efforts were for naught, now that he was touching me, now that he was close enough that I didn't just hear his breathing, I could feel it on me, washing over me, and making me literally quake with fear. I hated the fact that I was allowing my anxiety to get the best of me, I wanted to stay strong, no matter what, but now that I had allowed myself to acknowledge my fear, I couldn't think of anything else.

"Hello, Sophie," he said softly, in a voice that was hoarse, almost rusty, from disuse. "The time is close, it won't be long now, and then you'll be mine completely. I've waited for this moment for so long and now it's mere hours away. You and I will travel the road together, and then we will join with one another and then I will consume you, and you will be part of me forever. That sounds wonderful, don't you think?"

Eames' POV

To say that I'd had dreams that involved women was quite similar to making the statement that rain was wet. To be perfectly succinct, a night of slumber for me that didn't involve the presence of at least one female was more to take notice of then all of the others that contained at least one, and, at times, a bevy of females. That being said, there were certain women who were off-limits to me in my life at all times, even when I was asleep, and I liked to think that Sophie was on that list, but that didn't stop her from making an appearance none the less, did it?

It wasn't that I didn't want to dream about Sophie because I didn't find her attractive. Truth be told, I probably found her to be a tad bit _too_ attractive. She was depending on me to find her, to save her, and I couldn't do what I needed to if I was fixed upon her in that way, I couldn't allow my personal feelings to get in the way, not if I wanted to rescue her, and I had to do that, I had to save her, I had to snatch her out of harm's way, I had to…..

One moment I was playing cards…okay, okay…I was _cheating_ at cards, and then, the next thing I knew I was back beneath the ground, I was there, in that corridor, staring at one door after another, until my eyes landed upon the one that I knew instinctively was _her_ door, the one that blocked Sophie from my sight, until I made my way down the hall, and looked inside at her, through the bars that made her a prisoner. She was sitting with her back pressed against the cinderblock wall, and one leg pulled up, with the other tucked underneath her body. She was clutching that ratty tatty stuffed dog that I had seen before in her hands, whispering to it, and laughing softly, and she was so beautiful that it made my chest ache deep inside.

This was how I had seen her before, and there was a part of me, a very large portion of my being that was thankful that she wasn't naked and reclined upon her bunk, running one small hand along her bared thigh and bidding me to come to her and have my way with her with the other. That being said, there was a small, but very dominant, part of my nature that was sorely disappointed that I hadn't found her thus, as I would have in practically every dream that I had that involved a woman…..

My eyes flew open and I sat up in bed, holding my head in my hands as I bore the strength and staggering meaning of the epiphany that had brought me out of a deep sleep before my dream of Sophie could turn down roads which I wasn't meant to travel with her, no matter how much I may have…okay, okay…no matter how much I wanted, more than anything, to do just that.

I saw everything so clearly now, and it infuriated me to know that I ought to have sensed the falseness that was all around me when I was traipsing through Garret McGill's subconscious in an existence that was haphazardly created and raised, in a desperate bid to discover what had become of Sophie Evans. I suppose that I'd been blinded by the joy that the sight of her had brought me, and that had made me concentrate only on what I wanted to see, as opposed to the proof that was all around me, but that was then, and this was now, and the blinders were no longer pulled tightly over my eyes.

I grabbed hold of my mobile phone, cautioning myself to resist the urge to take my anger out on the fragile device as I dialed Dom's number with a tad bit more force than what was necessary. I managed to keep a cool head most of the time, it was a rare occasion when I allowed myself to give in to the urge to panic, but this definitely qualified as one of those instances, because the time until McGill would be executed was winding down, and that meant that Sophie's chances for survival were growing slimmer and slimmer, and I'd be damned if I would allow them to disappear altogether.

I listened to the phone ring three times, then four, all while cursing beneath my breath for Dom to answer the blasted thing. Then a fifth ring, and a sixth, sounded, and I began to panic just a little, because I feared that he wouldn't answer at all, which had me shouting foul language of all sorts into the phone, when finally he answered, and made me even angrier than I already was, because he had the audacity to sound as if he was barely awake.

"It's about bloody time you picked up the phone!" I thundered, throwing back my blankets so that I could get up and start pulling on my clothes. "Are you suffering from sudden hearing loss, or is your ringtone the typical soundtrack that accompanies all of your dreams?"

Dom was generally a levelheaded sort, one who rarely lost his temper, but it would seem that he was a tad bit touchy when awakened from a deep sleep, if the tone of his response was any indication. "Well, yes, I suppose that I _could_ do that to myself, though I must admit that I've always preferred a woman's embrace over my own," I said, moving through the room, grabbing clothes from wherever I found them, with no concern at all as to whether or not they were clean, let alone pressed and polished.

I listened to him rave awhile longer, which was quite generous of me, in my own opinion, that is, then I cut him off, because I knew that we were wasting time. "Listen, Cobb, I know that it is three in the morning, and I agree that it is very inconsiderate of me to wake you, but I would not do so if it wasn't an emergency that requires our immediate attention. I won't say any more about this over the phone. I would like you to rally the troops and meet me at the room that Burwell gave us, as quickly as possible, if you please. Sophie is in more danger than we believed her to be, and if we don't act immediately, we'll lose the chance to save her. I refuse to allow that to happen, Dom…how about you?"

Sophie's POV

I tried to ignore him. I didn't know what he meant to do to me. The possibilities were endlessly terrifying, and I was afraid to say or do anything that might sway him in one way or another. I wished that I was one of those people who had the ability to talk others into doing what they wanted them to do, as opposed to what they meant to do, because if that was the case I would have been freed from my cell years ago, wouldn't I? I might have even been able to talk Jude into freeing the others, before McGill raped and murdered them, but I wasn't blessed with that ability, not in the slightest, hence my current predicament.

His hand was still resting on my knee, holding me, caressing me from time to time, but mostly just a touch, a _presence_, one that was slowly, but surely, driving me to the edge, the precipice that threatened to have me screaming and pulling at my hair, if I didn't keep a very firm and disciplined grip on myself. He hadn't spoken for some time, he seemed content to sit there and stare at me in silence, until his voice reemerged, in a whisper that was more disconcerting than a shout would have been.

"I never should have been born," he said, rubbing his hand against me in the way that a man would touch the woman that he loved, and I fought against the gagging feeling that rose in the back of my throat in response to his caress. "My father always told me that I was never meant to be their son. They were happy with the blessing that God had given them, they felt as if they'd been chosen by Him, that they'd been touched, and His reward to them for their obedience was their bright and shining star. I was the one who wasn't meant to be, I was the one who was formed from violence and from hate, and they never wanted me. Father said that they would have had me destroyed, had they not feared punishment for that sin. He said that I was a reminder, that I was the living, breathing proof that my mother had suffered and had been shamed. He said that I was why she cried all of the time. He hated me. She hated me. God hated me too. The only one who didn't hate me was the bright and shining star."

He moved closer to me on my bunk as he spoke to me, and his hand moved from its perch on my knee to my hair. He ran his fingers through the length that he released from its binding, from my scalp down to the tips, over and over, until it was all that I could do, to keep myself from shuddering with disgust. I told myself that it was just hair, that it was nothing that I couldn't bear, but it got harder to hold the revulsion at bay with every moment that passed, and I found myself wandering closer and closer to that edge that marked the beginning of a hysterical outburst that might very well provoke him into attacking me.

"Father and Mother told the Blessing that I was a curse, they said that I was to be avoided, that I was to be ignored, but the Blessing ignored_ them_ instead. I don't know why, I've had all of these years to think about it, but I just can't make myself understand the reasoning behind it. Why would a person choose to show someone kindness, when they have been given the opportunity, when they have been given _permission_ to be as hateful as they want to be?"

How could I even hope to explain things to him, when I couldn't say with any certainty why his parents had behaved the way that they had? How could I make him understand that his parents were the sinful ones, the ones who had no notion of who God truly was? How was I supposed to make him see that his sibling, the one who was a blessing, had loved him because that was a purpose and a gift that they had been given?

"Father and Mother died when I was nine and the Blessing was thirteen and we were sent to live with my Grandmother. She wasn't kind to me, but she wasn't cruel either. She ignored us, for the most part. She was busy with her life in society, and couldn't be bothered with two orphans. She lived until I was fifteen and the Blessing was nineteen. She was very generous, upon her death, and the Blessing finished raising me. We lived there, together, until the Blessing died. I was twenty-one when that happened. I wasn't sad, but I wasn't free either. It was such a long time ago. Why am I not free yet? Will I ever be free?"

He stopped stroking my hair and held a strand of it between his fingertips, rubbing it, learning its texture, and then he leaned forward and raised it to his nose, drawing in the scent and finding it to his liking. "Your hair was much shorter when you came here to live with me," he said, sniffing it again, and then laying it back where it had been resting. "I like it like this, long and soft. It smells really good to me. I think that I will keep it, when your time comes. Will it make you very sad, I wonder, to leave it behind?"

Eames' POV

"Someone is working against us, someone had to have told McGill what we were doing, what to expect, how else would he have known how to play me the way that he did?" I asked, moving through the small room, glancing occasionally at the three members of my team that I knew I could trust. "We built that world, a generic, nonthreatening environment where he would feel comfortable opening up to me, so how did he manage to lure me into his lair? He had to have known what I was all about, he had to have been told what to expect, and he wanted me to see the place, he wanted me to see Sophie, because it would make it that much more satisfying when I failed in my task…when the moment arrived, and I had to acknowledge that I'd all but handed her over to Jude."

Arthur got an odd look on his face, and rushed out of the room, but I didn't pay him any mind. I was too busy explaining my theory to ask him what he was doing. I don't know what infuriated me the most, there were so many things that had happened, and that would potentially happen, to pick just one. My mind was racing and my heart was pounding, and I couldn't figure out what I was going to do to save her...all I knew was that I had to save her, no matter what.

"Maybe you led him to show you what he did," Dom suggested. "He couldn't have seen through your disguise, and I'm sure that he was thrilled at the opportunity to show off his abilities to his idol….."

"I didn't have a chance to lead him anywhere, Cobb," I interrupted, slamming my hand against the table, even though I knew he hadn't meant any offense with his words, even though I knew that he was just brainstorming with me, like we would always do with an aspect of a job that confused us. "We were never where we were supposed to be, the entire consciousness took place where _he_ wanted it to, not the one that we created."

I knew that I was taking things too personally, and that was because Sophie wasn't just another job, she wasn't another target to be acquired. I was too invested in her, I ought to have taken a step back and admitted that I was becoming too involved, but I didn't want to give any of the others the opportunity to do their best to pull me back, possibly even to replace me, if they had the nerve to try, that is.

"But how would he have known?" Ariadne asked, reaching out a hand to pat Dom's arm, a gesture, I suppose, that was meant to soothe any feathers that I might have ruffled. "Who could have told him, when there weren't many who had all of the details….?"

Her voice trailed away as Arthur came running back into the room, practically knocking me down on my bum in his haste to reach the table, where he slammed down a thick folder, one that was filled with the profiles of all of McGill's victims. I righted myself almost immediately, and fully intended to give him a thorough bollocking, but he started chattering away before I could say a word.

"I should have seen this sooner, but my mind was mush after I went through all of these, and I forgot all of the details," he explained, opening the file, to a photo of the fourth victim, Shiloh Bressler. "Miss Bressler was found, raped and dismembered, in the fall of '81. She was an orphan, and, along with her younger brother, Jude, was raised by her grandmother, Helen Bressler, a society type who passed in '75 and left her entire estate to her grandchildren."

He pulled out another photo of Shiloh, one that had her standing beside a young man. I recognized him, even though he was thinner than the Jude that I had seen, but there was no doubt in my mind that he was the man who'd been guarding Sophie's room. I couldn't tell whether or not his eye was twitching, but it was more likely than not that it was, given the skewed tilt of his gaze.

"You mean to tell me that Garret McGill raped and dismembered his sister, and his response was to _worship_ the son of a bitch?" I asked disbelievingly, sorting through the papers, until I stumbled upon the blueprint of the house that the Bressler's had inherited, and, more importantly, on the basement, the one that ran the entire length and width of the huge house that covered most of the property…the one that would perfectly house the corridor of cells that McGill had shown me.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Eames' POV

I had been given one SIG SG 552, which was not bad at all, and a couple of Heckler & Koch P2000's, which had always been my preference in a dependable sidearm, but it was the sight of something which I had only held and used within the subconscious state that had me smiling like a little boy who'd just been given what he'd begged Santa to bring him for what seemed like an eternity. There was a Milkor MGL Mk 1L grenade launcher fitted with an Armson OEG reflex sight waiting for me on the table with all of the other offerings, and I took hold of it reverently and raised it with hands that were shaking and turned to look at Cobb with what I hoped was obvious gratitude in my eyes.

"How did you know?" I asked quietly, smiling at him, while I showed my appreciation for the Milkor by caressing it in a way that might have been a tad bit more suggestive than I had meant for it to be. "I don't think that you and I have ever spoken about weapons before tonight, so how could you possibly know….?"

"A little birdy told me all about it," he interrupted, turning to look at Arthur over his shoulder. Mr. Uptight was watching me closely, I would imagine that he had been doing so the entire time, and it was obvious from the grin on his face that he was very pleased with himself. Any other time I would have said or did something to wipe the smile off his face, just because that was the nature of our relationship with one another, and was therefore expected, but I was much too happy at that moment to do anything that could have been perceived as being rude and/or crude, and I chose instead to bestow a smile of my own on him, a beam that fairly radiated with bliss, I would imagine, and that seemed to make him a mite bit uneasy for some strange reason.

"It was very kind of you to remember my preference for this weapon, Arthur, and even kinder for you to mention it to Dominic. I know that I tease you more than I ought to, and I would imagine that I am the source of a great deal of stress and irritation for you, but I vow that from this day forward I will endeavor to be more considerate, and hopefully never say or do anything that would offend you at any time in the future….."

"I wouldn't ask that much of nature, Eames," he said, interrupting what I'd intended to be a heartfelt tribute to the uptight, by the book, pious saint of a man who seemed to endeavor to be a constant and enduring pain in my arse. "I'd be better off asking the sun not to shine, and the world not to turn, wouldn't you agree?"

I could feel the smile on my face tightening, turning to something that was more reminiscent of a grimace. I reminded myself that there were things at stake which were much more important than me getting the last word with Arthur, first and foremost being Sophie, and besides which, why should I ever allow him to see that he'd managed to spark my temper? Where would be the fun in that?

"You're absolutely right, Arthur," I said, in a tone that was filled to the brim with faux cheer and a smattering of sarcasm, which he ought to have been able to hear, but I would wager that he hadn't, given the hint of disappointment born from the fact that I had refused to rise to the bait that I could sense in him. "Once more, thank you for remembering my preferences. I don't think that there's any door in that corridor that could even hope to stand up to the power in this Milkor."

Ours was a dangerous undertaking to be sure, no matter what sort of firepower we brought along. It was always risky, I would imagine, to go behind the backs of the powers that be to accomplish a task which ought to involve their presence, but recent events had proven to us that there were traitors amongst us, snakes in the grass, so to speak, and as such we'd made the decision to proceed with our group of four who trusted one another without a second thought.

"I hope that we'll be able to get her out of there without having to discharge a single weapon," Dom said, outfitting himself with his own small arsenal. "It would certainly make things much simpler for us, where the authorities are concerned, if we can get in and out and rescue her without firing a single shot….."

"Is there a reason why you are looking at me while you are making that observation, Mr. Cobb?"

I'd aimed my query in his direction, but the truth of the matter was that they were all looking at me, and I thought that they were making allegations for which there was no merit whatsoever. I would have understood their need to caution me if I had frequently displayed behavior that was like that of some sort of trigger-happy lunatic, but since I hadn't, I couldn't help but feel a tad bit cross over the fact that they'd all seemed to draw that conclusion about me.

"I just don't want you to allow your…_emotions_ to take over your reason and professionalism," he said quietly, and gave a look to Arthur and Ariadne that had them scrambling out of the room, to give us a little privacy. "It's a thin line that you're treading, Eames, one that you could fall off of at any moment. Trust me, I know how dangerous it is, to allow your personal feelings to intrude upon your professional life, and I don't want you to make a mistake, or put anyone at harm, because you can't keep….."

"I am not you, Cobb," I interrupted, in a tone that was much harsher and defensive than I would have preferred it to be, simply because I would have rather kept my 'emotions' to myself. "And Sophie certainly has nothing whatsoever in common with Mal. I promise that I won't do anything that would jeopardize her, or us, I can keep a tight enough grasp on my 'feelings' to get the job done as cleanly and efficiently as possible, I promise you that."

The subject was closed, as far as I was concerned, and I was eager for us to get on our way, but apparently Dom still had his doubts where my self-control was concerned. "It's going to be difficult for you to leave Jude unscathed, if you see him, but please remember that we're not the authorities, and that we haven't been given any sort of clout that would provide a safety net for our actions, should you feel the need to put one between his eyes…unless he was to open fire on us first, of course, or if it was obvious that he meant to harm Miss Evans….."

"He's already hurt her," I interrupted, moving the strap of the Milkor onto one shoulder, and the harness for the SIG onto the other. "And he deserves more than one shot for that, in spots that are a tad bit south from his eyes, but you have my word that I will refrain from fatally wounding him…unless he leaves me with no other choice, that is."

Sophie's POV

My life was dwindling away by the hour now, I could feel it leaving me like it was a physical presence, and no matter how hard I tried, no matter how I grasped at it with my hands, and begged it with my voice to stay, it wouldn't be swayed from the task of leaving me altogether. Jude was happier than I'd ever seen him, and that in itself was enough to make me cry, because what sort of person reveled in the death of another?

_You __**know**__ what sort_, I reminded myself inside my head, where I wouldn't be heard, because I had an idea that his joy would only grow by leaps and bounds, if he was to know the depth of my fear…not that he wasn't already aware of the fact that I was absolutely terrified. _And don't you __**dare**__ give him the satisfaction of seeing your tears or hearing your sobs. You've already given him enough of that, and now you have to be strong. There isn't much that can be done, there isn't a lot that you've been left to take with you from this world, but you have your strength, don't you? _

The truth of the matter was that I didn't know how much strength that I had left in me. I wondered if my will to live was enough to keep me silent while he violated me. I hoped that he would kill me before he started cutting me. I had to believe that he would give me a nice, clean death, one that didn't involve a knife, because that was the only way that I could keep my fear under control. I couldn't imagine that there were many ways to die which would be considered good ways to go, not if you really took the time to think about it, but there were definitely those which ranked amongst the worst, and one of those for me was to be stabbed to death…and I just couldn't get beyond the fear that Jude meant to send me from this world in that fashion.

I couldn't help but berate myself for my decision to remain celibate until I found "the one", now that I knew what lay ahead of me. It hadn't been the easiest thing in the world, to remain a virgin, in the life that I'd known before, but I'd been proud of myself for sticking to my convictions, at least, I had, until now. How was I to know that Christian Forester was the better choice back in high school, even though he'd cheated on me? Had I known that I was destined to lose my virginity to a toad-like, twitchy eyed murderous freak, I would have gladly given it to Christian instead, or to Michael Masterson…hell, I'd have given it to my co-worker, Lenny Harris, and I'd absolutely _loathed_ him.

I suppose that it was best that I wasn't destined to be with a man in the outside world, because what sort would he be to be comfortable with a woman like me? Who would want someone who was scared of the notion of a man sitting beside her, and who would more likely than not become hysterical if he tried to touch her…especially if he pulled on a pair of gloves before he did so? I could never have a normal relationship, they had taken that away from me, so what was the use of thinking about what might have been?

I was wrapped up in my thoughts, in my memories and my regrets, and that was why I wasn't paying as much attention to my surroundings as I ought to have been. So I didn't hear the slow, shuffling sound that Jude made as he walked along until he was standing in the door of my cell, watching me, with his heavy breathing, dancing eye, and that small, stupid smile that he'd been wearing ever since the countdown had reached thirty-six hours, a smile which seemed to have grown even brighter, now that we were down to sixteen. There was a part of me that wanted to hide from him, until I remembered what awaited me, and scraped together every ounce of willpower that I had, for the opportunity to show him that I wasn't the least bit scared of him, no matter what he heard beneath the words that I spoke, or what he saw in my eyes, and in my body language.

"What do you want?" I asked crossly, in a tone that I hoped conveyed all of my disgust, instead of the terror that had me shaking from head-to-toe. "Can't you just leave me be for right now? Don't I at least get a chance to have a little peace and quiet before….?"

My voice trailed away, and I choked on the words that would have come next. I expected his smile to grow, but surprisingly enough he didn't seem to take any pleasure in seeing my fear rise up and take control of me. He'd been standing in the doorway, holding one hand behind his back, and he drew it out slowly, his eyes on mine, to gauge my reaction, I suppose, to the knife that he'd been hiding from me, the one that he was holding with one hand, while his other one caressed the blade in a way that could only be called loving in nature.

"Do you like it?" he asked softly, trailing one pudgy fingertip over the steel. "I've been saving it just for you. Isn't it beautiful?"

_Beautiful_ was one of those words which had ceased to be a part of my vocabulary in my new life. It had lingered for a while, but eventually it had gone the way of _daylight_ and of _freedom_. It had stayed in my consciousness longer than _fresh air_, it had stayed with me even after _birdsong_ had left me behind, but eventually I had forgotten it. That being said, I remembered enough to know that the knife that Jude was holding was _not_ beautiful. It was terrifying, it was ugly, it was imposing and it was cold and cruel, I knew this because these were words that I knew well, these were things that I'd learned the absolute face of, when most only saw what was on the surface.

"I've waited for this time for so long and now it's almost here," he said, crossing my cell, to sit on the bunk beside me. I hated myself for showing my fear so blatantly, but there was no force in the universe that was strong enough to keep me from scrambling backward, until my back was pressed against the cold, cinderblock wall, especially not my paltry, fleeting sense of strength. "I finally get to touch you, I finally get to know you, and you're going to be all mine, you'll be part of me forever. Would you like to touch your destiny, Sophie? Would you like to feel it for yourself?"

I stared at the blade that was twice the length of my palm, choking on a sob as my eyes traced the notched edge, which took on a serrated cut right above the curved point. The other side was straight and smooth and undoubtedly razor-sharp, and some of my fear turned to something else as I contemplated what sort of damage I could do to Jude, if I was to apply this knife to his fat body. He had plenty of layers to work through, it would take time to gut him, but it could be done, it would mean that he couldn't hurt me any longer, and he'd already said that I could touch it, which meant that I could turn the tables on him, if I only had the nerve…..

I was so used to him moving slowly, I had allowed myself to believe that he wasn't capable of moving quickly, but I was wrong. He moved off of my cot in a flash, pinning me to the mattress, with one hand wrapped tightly in my hair, holding me in place, and the other holding the blade against my throat, pressing just enough that the steel sliced into my skin, not deeply enough to do any serious damage, but enough that I wasn't likely to struggle and squirm.

"I don't like that look that I see in your eyes," he hissed, using his knees to force my legs apart and resting his weight on my body, and I gagged when I felt his erect flesh pressed up tight against me. "Why would you want to think about things like that? Why would you even consider betraying me, when I've always treated you like a lady?"

His weight was crushing me into my cot, and it was a struggle to breathe, let alone speak, but apparently he hadn't considered that, or, I suppose it was possible that he didn't care. Maybe he'd been waiting for a chance to hit me, it had been a long time since he'd taken his fist to my face, but this time he didn't pause long enough to pull on a glove. His bare knucles connected with one side of my face, and then the other, all while he rubbed himself between my legs, breathing harder and harder, faster and faster, his lips trembling as he whispered my name…..

I was choking on the screams that rose in my throat, and from his weight, and the sound around me went in and out, like a heartbeat, and that was why I couldn't understand why he suddenly froze, and then collapsed against me, crushing me even more. I hadn't heard the sound of the blow that knocked him unconscious, but I did see the one who'd hit him, after he managed to move Jude off of me.

I suppose that I ought to have been scared of him as well, I didn't know him, I didn't know what his intentions toward me might have been, but all it took was one look at the bloodied butt of the rifle that he was holding in his hands, and the kindness and relief that I could see in his eyes to earn my trust. He threw Jude down onto the floor of the cell, and kicked him once, twice, then a third time in the ribs, then turned back to me and held out his hand.

"Come with me, Sophie," he said softly, coaxingly, the sort of tone that one might use when they were speaking to a terrified animal. "He won't be hurting you anymore, not so long as I'm around."

Raising my hand was one of the hardest things that I had ever done, but it was one of the simplest as well, and when I felt his hand, warm and masculine as it enveloped mine, I knew that I had made the right decision. He wouldn't hurt me, he would keep me safe, and there was nothing for me to fear, not Garret McGill, not my cell and the loss of my life and freedom. Not that knife of Jude's, not the countdown of the hours, not even Jude himself…at least, that was what I wanted to believe.

Eames' POV

She smelled like lavender. She was warm and soft in my arms, her hands were small, and one was resting on the back of my neck, while the other one laid on my chest. I think that she had gone to sleep; either that or she'd passed out. No matter which was the case, I enjoyed the feel of her breathing, slow and steady, against my chest. Dom had suggested that I place her in the chair beside me; he insisted that it would be safer for her to ride that way, as opposed to sitting on my lap, but I wasn't likely or inclined to turn loose of her anytime soon.

It had taken every last scrap of my self-control to keep myself from killing that tub of guts when I'd heard the sounds of her muffled screams as I made my way to her cell, and even more so when I saw him assaulting her on her bunk, but I'd made a promise to Dom, and forced myself to make do with hitting him with the butt of my SIG. It had been very satisfying for me, to see his scalp split open and rain blood down on the back of his neck, and it was my deepest hope that I might have accidently killed him in my haste to stop him from defiling Sophie any further than he already had. It was possible for a man to die from a skull that had been caved in, wasn't it?

She shivered in her sleep and whimpered and I clutched her closer, murmuring nonsensically, in the hopes that the sound of my voice and the feel of my arms would soothe her, and wonder of wonders, it seemed to work. I couldn't help but feel proud of myself as I smoothed a hand through her hair, breathing in the scent of lavender and reveling in the fact that I'd done as I'd wanted, I'd saved her, I'd…..

My congratulatory euphoria was interrupted by the feel of a stare being leveled upon me, a particularly measuring and disapproving gaze that belonged to Dom, who was sitting across from me. I met his eyes with my own, striving, thankfully, with success, not to wince when I saw the obvious condemnation that was staring back at me.

"Be careful, Eames," he said softly, turning his gaze to Sophie, for just a moment, before he returned his attention to me. "Be very, very careful."

I didn't need to ask him what he meant, because I already knew what he was talking about…and that was why I knew that it was already too late for me to turn back.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Eames' POV

I stood in the doorway of my room and watched her, wondering what the surroundings looked like through the eyes of a woman who'd been locked in a cell for the past ten years. Everything was very masculine in nature, I'd never gone for anything that could be even remotely described as feminine or frou-frou, but she didn't seem to be one who favored flowery material or pastel colors…not that I knew her well enough to judge what she preferred.

I knew that my bed had to have been more comfortable than that cot that she'd been sleeping on, and I was grateful for the fact that I'd put freshly laundered sheets on the mattress a couple of days before. It would have been nice, I suppose, if I'd taken the time to make the bed before I left, but I'd been in a hurry, and I hoped that she'd be willing to overlook the fact that everything wasn't as shipshape as it ought to have been.

I knew that I ought to have cleared my throat, or coughed, or made some sort of noise to let her know that I was there, but I was too busy trying to decide what I ought to say to her. What on earth could, or, rather, _should_ you say when you were speaking to someone who'd been through as much as Sophie had endured? I didn't know how to approach her, I wasn't sure whether I ought to be friendly or reserved, but then I saw that she was crying, and any and all thoughts about procedure and decorum went right out the window.

I made my way into the room, taking care to keep my stride slow and calm, and walked over to the bed. She was sitting still, with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs, so that she could hug herself. It was rare to witness someone who had the ability to cry silently, but that was what she was doing, as a matter of fact; she was so quiet that I would have never known that she was in pain, if I hadn't seen her tears glimmering as they coursed down her cheeks to land on her arms.

"It occurred to me that I forgot my manners earlier," I said quietly, wincing when I saw that I'd managed to startle her, even though I'd taken a great deal of care to do the exact opposite. "I ought to have introduced myself when we met, but I was a tad too preoccupied with the task at hand to do so, and I think that I can safely assume that you weren't all that concerned with who I was at that moment, were you?"

Hmm…that wasn't exactly what I'd wanted to say, it was highly unlikely that she was impressed with my attempt at levity, nor was it the time or the place for that sort of nonsense, but I didn't know what else I ought to say. I was accustomed to knowing the words that were needed in any given moment, but now I was tongue-tied, and felt awkward and uncertain of myself, and these were sensations that I didn't care for at all.

She didn't say anything for a moment, the seconds ticked by and I felt the uncomfortable strain of the silence in the room as if it was a living, breathing creature. She stared at me with those big brown eyes, the ones that were lovely at all times, but heartbreakingly so at that moment, swimming, as they were, with tears, and then she spoke to me, in a tone that was soft and husky and filled with pain, and I felt that fragile timbre take hold of me, plunging into my chest, and wrapping itself around my heart.

"It didn't matter to me _who_ you were," she whispered, shuddering a little after she spoke, a tremor that urged me to move closer to her, to sit beside her and take her into my arms, but I didn't dare. "All that mattered was that you were there to save me…though, I wouldn't mind knowing your name, if you wish to tell me."

She ran her hands from her knees down to her ankles, then back up again, over and over, in a movement that hypnotized me, one that made me forget that she'd spoken to me. "Of course, you don't have to, if you don't wish to," she continued, pulling me out of my reverie with a start, as well as a blush. "It just seemed that you meant to tell me right now, but maybe I was mistaken….."

Her voice trailed away, leaving the room mired within that painfully awkward silence once more, and I felt like an ass, for losing myself just long enough to make her ill-at-ease. I suppose that Cobb had been right when he warned me to be careful, because it was obvious that I was entranced by Sophie, so much so that I forgot how I ought to behave, and had, in turn, embarrassed her with my lack of discipline.

"Forgive me, Sophie," I said softly, moving even closer to her, in spite of my revelation that I ought to keep my distance. "May I call you Sophie, or would you prefer that I address you as Ms. Evans….?"

"It would be inaccurate for you to address me as _Ms_. in any circumstance, seeing as how I am a _Miss_," she interrupted, turning the full power of her eyes on me, eyes which, I was pleased to see, were beginning to clear of the tears that had upset me so much. "That being said, I think that we can dispense with the formalities, seeing as how you _did_ save my life, can't we….?"

She paused, and looked at me expectantly, and it took me a moment, but then I realized that she was waiting for me to introduce myself, which had been the topic that had started our conversation in the first place, and I felt a bit dim for not picking up on that fact a bit quicker than I had. I wasn't accustomed to feeling slowwitted, it was a rather humbling experience, and I was pleased that she was the only one who was there to witness it, just as I was mortified that she was seeing me in that state as well.

"Eames," I said, reaching out my hand to her, as I would with any person when I was meeting them for the first time. It didn't dawn on me that she might not have wanted me to touch her until I'd already made the gesture of a handshake, and I wondered how I could take it back, without embarrassing her, but then she reached out her own hand, very slowly and more than a little hesitantly, and slipped it into my own, our palms meeting and embracing tightly, for one lovely and all too short moment.

"I'm going to assume that Eames is your last name, which means that you must have been given a first name that was absolutely horrible, am I right?" she asked, looking at me with eyes that were wonderfully devoid of any and all traces of the tears that had filled them just moments before. "You can tell me what it is, if you want to. I promise that I won't laugh at you if you do, though you're under no obligation to tell me, if you don't want to."

There was a large part of me that wanted to open up to her and tell her who I was, there was an urge that I felt, quite strongly, I might add, to share my entire history with her, but I reminded myself that I had to keep some distance between us, no matter how much I hated the idea of doing so. Dom had been right to warn me, because it would be inappropriate, and potentially even harmful for me to get too close to Sophie…well, to get any closer than I already had, that is.

"It is indeed my surname, the moniker that I prefer, given that my parents decided to bestow a Christian name upon me that was positively ghastly," I concurred, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, until she patted the bed, not beside her, but leaning over instead to touch the edge of the mattress. I took a deep breath, then another, and finally decided to cast all caution to the wind by taking the seat that she'd offered me, even though I knew better than to do so. "Perhaps the time will arrive, someday, when I will share that secret with you, but today is not that day. You can understand why I can't tell you right now, can't you, Sophie?"

She didn't smile at me, which was what I had hoped she would do, but she didn't frown either, and what was even better was that she didn't cry. She looked at me instead, meeting my eyes directly with her own, urging me to do the same, to give her my full attention in that way, which made her blush and look away from me, but not before she nodded her response.

"Of course I do," she whispered, then took a deep breath and returned her eyes to mine. "I think that I will save a secret all my own to share with you when that day arrives, something that I've never told another soul, and then we'll be the same, won't we, Eames?"

Aw, hell. How could I be expected to keep my distance, to be a consummate professional, when she insisted on training those eyes of hers on me the way that she was? It was an honest and sincere action on her part, one that was done unconsciously, with no thought at all of lure or seduction, but that didn't make things any easier on me, did it? Of course, it didn't help that her lips were so full, or that her voice was soft and husky, or that the skin on her hands was soft and warm…bugger me…I was done for, wasn't I?

Sophie's POV

Eames was gone. I knew that he wasn't gone forever, but he wasn't there, where I needed him, and I tried to be as normal as I could, to show Ariadne that the task that she'd been given, the one that involved babysitting me until he got back, was an easy one overall, but any and all good intentions that I might have had went right out of the window when I discovered that Scruffy was missing. It just didn't make any sense, I'd seen Eames grab him when he'd taken me out of my cell, but now he was gone. Scruffy was gone, and so was Eames and the combination proved to be more than I could handle.

I suppose that Ariadne might have thought that I was a tad bit tetched as it was, considering that she knew where I'd been, and some of what had been done to me, but I would imagine that her opinion of me was further skewed when I refused to leave the safety and comfort of Eames' bedroom, and even more when I leapt from the bed and started tearing the place apart like a woman who'd completely lost her mind, or, rather, one who'd just lost whatever had remained of her mind.

Things had been going so well up until that moment, that is, they had been going as well as they could for me considering that Eames wasn't there with me. I'd managed to make conversation, well, that is, I had answered her when she spoke to me, but then my hands had reached out for Scruffy, to hold him tight, and take comfort from his presence, but he'd been gone and no matter how hard I looked, I just couldn't find him, and that was when I had started to come unglued.

It had taken Ariadne a moment to fully grasp hold of the situation, I would imagine that it made for quite a confusing sight, to see a grown woman scramble off of a bed, muttering about a stuffed dog, frantically searching for him all over, but she managed to keep her composure until I started tearing the room apart, throwing Eames' belongings here and there, calling hysterically for Scruffy to come to me, and that was when her own voice started to rise and grow sharper, and she moved toward me with her hands outstretched, pleading with me to calm down.

I don't know how much time passed by while I was absorbed in my panic-stricken meltdown, it could have been minutes, it might have been hours, but everything ceased to exist for me. I didn't see anything, or hear anything, let alone feel anything that wasn't connected to my furry little friend, though there were little bursts, every now and then, of the remembrance that Eames had gone away, that he'd left me behind and now Scruffy was gone as well, and I was all alone in the world…..

"Shh, Sophie, everything is alright, my dear."

There was a familiar and comforting voice in my ear, and strong arms encircled me, pulling me out of the mess that I'd made, and holding me close. He ought to have been angry, after all, I'd completely destroyed his bedroom, truth be told, he ought to have been infuriated with me, but he didn't sound mad at all. His voice was low and calm and soothing, and I instantly felt better…especially when I saw that he was holding Scruffy in one of his hands.

"Here he is, safe and sound, do you see, Sophie?" he whispered, pulling me closer and placing my old friend safely in the crook of my arm. "I'm so sorry; I ought to have told you that I took him to be cleaned. It just didn't occur to me that you would be so upset…I suppose that I am a wee bit dimwitted, aren't I?"

Of course it hadn't dawned on him that I would come apart at the seams over Scruffy being gone. It was a common enough occurrence, for a child to be so dependent on the constant presence of a stuffed friend, but not so much when the person who relied on a plush animal was a grown woman. I wondered if he'd heard anything that I might have said about him being gone as well…oh, dear God…it was bad enough that he knew about my dependency on Scruffy to get me through, what would he think if he knew that I needed him the way that I did as well?

"No, you're not dimwitted at all, Eames," I said, reaching up to touch the side of his face without thinking. I turned to look at the door, where Ariadne had been standing just moments before, and was relieved to find that she'd gone away and given us a little privacy. I suppose that I ought to have lowered my hand right away, after all, there was no question in my mind that what I was doing was inappropriate, but no matter how much I told myself what I ought to do, I just couldn't make myself do it. "I'm the one who's to blame, I'm the one who can't think straight, who's abnormal….."

"That's enough of that talk," he interrupted, tightening his hold on me to the point that it was almost painful to me, though I wasn't inclined to complain anytime soon. "You are not to blame for being reliant on the one friendly face, the one presence that carried you through a decade of hell. Of course your thoughts are scattered, that is to be expected, and you certainly aren't 'abnormal' and I don't ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, do you understand me, Sophie?"

I liked his voice when it was soft and gentle and calming, but I couldn't help but enjoy this scolding tone as well. It didn't comfort me, as the other did, but it stirred things in me just the same, and made me appreciate the strength of his hold even more. My heart was still hammering in my chest, and I could feel the wetness of my tears on my cheeks, but Eames was there, he hadn't left me, and neither had Scruffy. I wasn't all alone, I was with the ones that I needed, I was safe, I was…..

"Is McGill dead?" I asked shakily, overcome by the sudden fear of the man who'd taken me off of the street, as if it had been his right to do so, the one who'd locked me in a cage and made me bear witness to the horrors that he'd inflicted on those who'd become my friends. "Is Jude dead? Please tell me that they're gone, Eames, please tell me that they can't hurt me anymore."

My hand was still resting on his face, and he rubbed his stubble roughened cheek against the softness of my palm, sending a shiver coursing through me that had nothing whatsoever to do with fear. "McGill is slated to die tomorrow night," he murmured, turning his face to run his lips across my palm, not exactly kissing me, but caressing me instead. "But he may as well be dead already, my dear, because he will never be allowed to hurt you again. As for Jude, well, I wish that I could say that he was dead, but I'm afraid that I can't. He was gone when we returned to bring him in. It's clear that he's hurt, very badly, and we're searching all of the area hospitals for him, but so far he's managed to evade us."

I remembered the sound of Jude's breathing, the slow shuffle of his steps. I could still smell him, and I almost gagged from the memory, and then whimpered when I recalled the cold touch of his knife and the revolting feel of his bloated body as he moved against me on my bunk. Dear God, I couldn't endure the notion that he might still be alive, I couldn't rest, I couldn't hope to find even a modicum of peace, not when I knew that he was out there somewhere, watching me, waiting for me…wanting me.

"Didn't I tell you that no one would ever hurt you again, not as long as I was around, didn't I say that to you, my dear?" he asked, bending his head, to rest his mouth against my brow, and his breath felt wonderfully warm against my skin, and made me shiver all over again. "I don't make a habit of saying things that I don't mean, Sophie, and I have promised to keep you safe. Trust me, believe what I say to you, and stay close to my side, and I swear to you that he will never lay another hand upon you…I will cut it off if he tries, you have my word on that."

I suppose that there were those who would say that I ought to have been repulsed by his vow to dismember another human being, but that was because they hadn't lived my life, they hadn't been in my place, therefore they had no idea that Jude didn't qualify as a human being. He might have at one time, long ago, but all of that was gone, and all that was left was a monster, and I couldn't help but be soothed by the thought, and the image, in my mind, of him being made to pay for all that he'd done to me.

I took the time to revel in the warmth and strength of Eames' embrace…and then I looked around at the mess that I'd made and my heart sank deep down into my chest, all the way into my stomach. "Oh, Eames, I'm so sorry," I said, feeling tears pressing against the backs of my eyes as I surveyed the damage that I'd done. "Look at the mess that I made, you must feel disgusted with me, you must be really mad, you must….."

"Hush, my dear," he interrupted, moving me aside, and brushing his thumbs beneath my eyes, to collect the tears that had brimmed and threatened to fall. "I've seen the mess, but it's nothing that can't be undone. I am not disgusted with you, nor am I angry, and that's all that I want to hear about it, alright? We'll work together to set things back to right, and then we'll see about fixing dinner, won't we?"

There was a part of me that said that I ought to have been a little annoyed with the way that he made assumptions and demanded that I act upon them, but I kind of liked the fact that he took the helm and guided me. There was so much that I was unsure of, and I didn't know which way to go, but I could change, I could be normal again, I could remember what it was like to lead an ordinary, day-to-day life…couldn't I?

A/N: I hope that I didn't put any of you off with Sophie's neediness, but her behavior is what is to be expected, to my way of thinking, after all that she's been through. She's been held prisoner for a decade, and I can only imagine what her emotional state would be after living the way that she did. That is why I imagine that she would become instantly attached to Eames, considering the fact that he was the one who saved her, well, that, and the fact that he is gorgeous and charming. He is her lifeline, her protector, the one who makes her feel safe, and she will continue to treat him as such, but rest assured that she is a strong woman, and she will find her inner strength before all is said and done, so please, just bear with me, and with her as well.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Jude hated the dark; he hated the way that it seemed to press in on him from all sides. It seemed that the black was a living and breathing thing; pressing in on his eyes and making them hurt as he strained to see what was around him. He could feel it filling his ears, it blocked out all of the other sounds, and made it where he couldn't hear anything but the silence of the night, and he was afraid, he was scared that the wolves might hear it echoing in his ears, they might be drawn by the sound and find him, alone and bleeding and helpless, and then what would he do?

He knew that the wolves were hungry, they were always ravenous, and there was nothing that they longed for, nothing they craved, like the soft, buttery flesh of a man like him, one who would provide them with pounds and pounds of sweet sustenance, coated well with blood, to make the bits slide down their throats all the easier. These were thoughts that made him whimper, ones that made him want to cry, but he didn't dare allow himself to make a sound, not that he could have managed anyway, given the visceral, paralyzing fury that ran a close race with his terror and his shame for the emotion that ruled supreme over him.

There was pain all throughout his body, but it was the agony in his head that bothered him the most. His skull felt like it was cracked, blood had poured forth from him, like a river, a gushing torrent of crimson, and for a moment he was sure that he was dead, or that he would be that way very soon, but he hadn't died, he had lived, and he knew the reason why this was so, he knew what his purpose was, now that he had failed the task that he'd been blessed with, that he'd been _trusted_ with.

_How could she do this to me_? That was the thought that filled his mind as he gingerly touched the aching spot on the back of his head, biting back a cry of pain when his fingertips brushed across a place that was particularly sore. Then it dawned on him that it wasn't completely her fault. After all, she never would have run from him if it hadn't been for the son of a bitch who'd tried to crack his skull open. Sophie had known the importance of her role, she had accepted her fate, and she never would have run from her destiny, had that intruder not persuaded her to do so.

He knew then that he would have to find both of them. He would have to transcend her to her glorious being and punish the one who'd dared to steal her away. Surely that would make up for his mistake, wouldn't it? He could still be forgiven, couldn't he? All that he had to do was find them and kill them. That wasn't too hard of a task, was it?

Sophie's POV

I was so warm. I was so cozy. I felt like I was in a protective cocoon, one that kept me safe from the outside world, one that promised that I could lay my head to rest without a worry or a care about who might be hovering in the background, waiting for a chance to hurt me. I couldn't remember another time in my life when I had felt as safe as I did at that moment, and that soothed me, but it scared me as well, because I couldn't help but wonder how long it would last, how long would I be assured that all was well, before everything turned itself upside-down all over again.

His bed was big and comfortable, and there was plenty of room to stretch out, if I'd wanted to, which I ought to have done, but I was happiest cuddled up right beside him. That was how I'd fallen asleep, snuggled up against his back, but sometime during the night he'd turned toward me, and now had his arms wrapped tightly around me. It should have scared me, to awaken and find myself as I was, after all, I didn't really know him, but the truth was that I felt perfectly safe, and took advantage of his exhaustion to study him as closely as I wanted to, which was something that I had been denied until that moment.

He was a good looking man, and I didn't mean that he was passably attractive; I meant that he was the sort of man who would encourage you to stop and have a better look, maybe even two or three. He looked years younger than he was when he slept, almost like a little boy, and I had to fight the urge to lean forward and press my lips against his brow. I wondered if the case was the same with everyone, if the cares that plagued us while we were awake melted away, and we regained our youth, if only for a few hours at a time, and if that was the case, did it apply to me as well? Did I look like my old self while I slept, or was my damage too deep to ever leave me be?

Eames. The man who'd rescued me, the man who was protecting me, the one who'd made me promises. The handsome man who was holding me tight in his arms, the way that a man held a woman when he cared about her, but that wasn't possible, was it? How could he care about me, when he didn't know me? Was there a woman out there somewhere who loved him? Did he love her as well? Did she usually sleep where I was at that moment, and if so, was that who he believed he was holding? Did he have any idea at all that it was me who was in his arms instead, and if so, was that why he was cuddling me so close….?

Dear God, what on earth was wrong with me? I barely knew this man, I didn't know much about him, beyond his name, that his home was very masculine in nature, one which smacked of money, and that he had saved me from the clutches of death…and that was all that I needed to know to trust him with every fiber of my being. That was the reason that I wanted him beside me at all times, that was why I panicked when he was away from me, that was why I hugged him close to me…at least, that was what I told myself, though I couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to my reaction to him, something that I didn't want to ponder, that I didn't want to accept, because I knew that he might hurt me, very badly, in the end.

My experience with men in the past was pretty much nonexistent, and all that I'd known for the last decade was fear and loathing and pain, so I wasn't sure what I ought to do, now that I was all alone with him. There was a part of me, an intelligent part, I would imagine, that told me that I ought to go back to sleep, because that would be the normal thing for me to do, but I didn't want to close my eyes. I felt safe in his arms, I felt warm and secure, but I was still scared what I might see if I closed my eyes, truth be told, there was terror roiling through me, right beneath the surface, and if I closed my eyes, if I let my guard down, it would have me again, and who was going to save me from my own mind?

I wondered if Scruffy felt like I'd abandoned him, because though he was sharing the bed with me and Eames, he was doing so from the other side, as opposed to me cuddling him close in my arms and taking solace in his presence…Oh, dear God…I really was crazy, wasn't I? I knew that Scruffy wasn't really alive, truly I did, but why was I thinking about him in a sense that said that he _was_ just as real as I was?

That sort of thing wasn't going to help me prove that I was sane to the shrink that they were taking me to tomorrow, if I started babbling like a loon about my good _friend_ Scruffy the Dog, was it? Of course, my borderline obsession with a man that I barely knew was bound to be another issue that alarmed the doctor, if it was to come up, and how could it not, given that I tended to break out in a cold sweat whenever I wasn't close to Eames?

He shifted in his sleep and rubbed his face against his pillow, once, twice, and then a third time, and then he murmured something, a sigh of a whisper that I couldn't hear. None of that really mattered to me, it turned out, because he suddenly moved his head closer to mine, and was now near enough to me that all it would have taken was a simple lift of my face, and I could have pressed my lips against his. I could have kissed him, if I'd wanted to, and it was unlikely that he would have felt it, but I didn't dare…so I touched his hair instead.

One unruly lock had fallen onto his forehead and I raised my hand to run a fingertip over the silken strands, rubbing them between my thumb and index finger before I tucked them back into place. I should have stopped there, I should have known that I had done enough, but I just couldn't keep myself from smoothing my palm over his hair, reveling in its softness, and several moments went by before I'd had my fill and started to lower my hand…only to be caught red-handed, so to speak, when his eyes opened suddenly and locked on to mine.

My heart started to hammer in my chest, as a matter of fact; it was thumping so furiously that I wouldn't have been surprised if he could feel its frantic rhythm. I waited for him to say something mean, after all, I had woken him, and I knew that he was exhausted, but he didn't seem to be the least bit irritated with me. He handled me waking him the same way that he reacted to me wrecking his room, in a manner that was very calm and collected, as if he was simply taking it all in stride.

"Hello, Sophie," he said softly, running one of his hands up and down my back in a soft caress that I swore I felt through my entire body. "Why aren't you asleep, my dear? Did you have a bad dream?"

I wasn't really sure what had happened to wake me up, I couldn't remember the particulars of my dreams, but they had to have been nightmares, given my reluctance to close my eyes. "It's not safe for me to go to sleep," I told him, electing for honesty, no matter how crazy it might have sounded to him. "I'm sorry that I woke you up as well. Would it be better if I slept in that chair by the window, so that I won't disturb you?"

Everything inside of me was praying that he wouldn't say yes, I knew that I would be devastated if he wanted me to leave, but I had to give him that option, didn't I? He had every right to expect an uninterrupted night of sleep, he hadn't promised to wake with me each and every time that a bad dream took hold of me, and I had no business at all in begging him to do so…no matter how much I might have wanted to.

"There's no reason why you should be apologizing to me, Sophie," he said, moving his hand from my back to my cheek, which he held, and then caressed, before he lowered his hand to find mine, holding it tightly in his own and stroking his thumb across mine. "Nothing bad is going to happen, because I'm here to protect you. You can close your eyes, and try to sleep, because if a bad dream comes, then you can always open them again, can't you? And why would I want you to sleep in that chair by the window, when I'm so happy to have you here by my side?"

I didn't know if he wanted me to answer him aloud. I hoped that he didn't expect me to do so, because I had no idea whatsoever about what I could, or _should_ say in response. There were plenty of things that I wanted to say to him, but I was too scared to open myself that completely, and made do instead with moving our hands, so that they rested between our bodies, perilously close to my breasts, and after I took a deep, fortifying breath I closed my eyes, so that I could try to sleep.

The last thing that I felt, as my exhaustion took hold of me, were his lips as they softly touched my forehead, and the last thing that I heard was him whispering to me, something that sounded like, _My Sophie_, but that couldn't have been real, could it? I had to have imagined it…hadn't I?

Eames' POV

It was fortunate for me that I had so much practice with forgeries, as a matter of fact, I'd taken a great deal of pleasure in sauntering over to Detective Morris Raymond and asking him a few questions about McGill, much more enjoyment that I ought to have felt, to be perfectly honest. I had waited to see if he would recognize me, but my skills were firmly in place, all of my mastery was at work, and all that he beheld was what I meant for him to see, and that was Simon Jensen, a news reporter who was practically bursting at the seams with excitement while he waited for the curtains to open, so that he might feast upon the final moments of Garrett McGill's life.

Poor McGill, he'd had his heart set on being hanged for his crimes, so that he might go out of this world in the same manner that his idol, Denton Clayton Newell, had chosen, but unfortunately for him, that method was not offered in the state where he was convicted, hence the needles, and ampules of sodium thiopental, pancuronium bromide, and potassium chloride which were waiting, anxiously, I hoped, to make a close, albeit, brief, acquaintance with his veins.

We were denied the experience of watching the staff insert the needles into his arms, which was a disappointment for me, because I would have enjoyed memorizing the sight, for my own peace of mind, but once that had happened, and after we were all told to take our seats, the curtains opened, and there he was, all laid out for our enjoyment. The bastard was smiling, which I'd expected, which I'd prepared myself for, as best as I could, and he took the time to look over the crowd, one by one, and once more I prepared myself for recognition to dawn, but he skipped over me without a second glance, just as he did all of the others in the room.

I couldn't help but feel a tad bit disappointed that he hadn't known me, at the same time that I felt a tremendous amount of relief. The moment was drawing nearer and nearer, the instant when I would reveal the truth, only to him, mind you, of whom I was, but that would have to wait until he'd had the say that was promised to him. I wouldn't want to run the risk of him revealing me to the others in the room, the ones who had helped him, who'd undermined me and mine as we sought to rescue Sophie. In all honesty, what I was planning to do was very risky, but I had to do it, I had to let him know that he had lost; I just hoped that my risk wouldn't prove to be stupidity after all was said and done.

I expected for him to drone on and on in his final statement, after all, those who were like him usually did, but when he was asked if he had any last words he simply smiled at the warden, and then turned his attention back to the crowd. "Sure do, Boss," he said genially, laughing a little, before he licked his lips and sighed. "Mmm…Fern Jacobs, Olivia McMann, Christy Jones, Shiloh Bressler, Jenna Rogers, Lorna Crosby, Leah Miller, Chandra Howell, Erin Talbot, Michelle Loomis, Sybil Horowitz, Debbie Owens, Becky Hayes, Alice McDonald, Rose Callen, Carlie Adams, Jennifer Rollins, Alyssa Newman, Sarah Potter, Bella DiPaulo, Amber Reynolds, Renee Casler, Tracy Hale, Zoe Tucker, Kelly Meara and Sophie Evans."

The weeping began when he started to recite his list, and it grew stronger and stronger, until the deputies moved throughout the room, offering tissues and gentle words of warning that everyone needed to try their best to compose themselves. I wasn't crying, even though there was a lump in my throat as I looked around the room, taking in the faces of those who'd loved the victims, and then that lump was taken from me, replaced by red-hot anger as my gaze returned to McGill, seething for all of those that he'd hurt, whose lives he'd destroyed, my Sophie's included, and the torture of being forced to listen to his noxious voice as he spoke her name aloud.

"Hmm…that's all I got to say, Boss," he said, giggling as he looked out at the crowd, and I knew that my moment had come. I retrieved the photo that I had taken that morning from my bag, the one that I had posed for, with Sophie held tightly against me, and when his gaze landed upon me I held it up for his perusal. It hadn't been serendipity that I'd been given this seat, I'd worked things so that I would have the chair that was nearest to him, the one that would ensure that he would see the photo clearly, and the guards hadn't given a second thought to the fact that I was carrying a photo of a man and a woman with me, because I wasn't the only one in the room who'd brought along a memento that they wanted McGill to see.

His eyes didn't move away from me that time, they sharpened instead upon the picture, and I had the honor, the soul deep, satisfying pleasure of seeing the epiphany as it seized hold of him in its grasp. His eyes narrowed as he studied the picture, then grew furious as he recognized us, and it was all that I could do to keep from laughing as I smiled at him and mouthed the words, _Enjoy your eternity in Hell_, _you sick bastard._

He started to say something, to voice his outrage aloud, but unfortunately for him, the first drug, the one that rendered him unconscious, was administered, and his eyelids fluttered closed before he could say a single word. I wasn't all that keen on the notion of watching the rest of the execution, I wasn't all that fond of witnessing someone's death, no matter what they'd done in life, but I would do so anyway because I wanted to go home to Sophie, I wanted to hold her close and tell her that McGill would never hurt her again, with the undeniable reassurance in my heart that watching him leave this world would provide, that what I told her was the truth.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Eames' POV

I wanted to be with Sophie, I wanted to hold her hand, to stay by her side, so that she would know, without a doubt, that she wasn't alone while she was stripped and examined, and poked and prodded, and endured each and every moment of embarrassment, but I wasn't a member of her family, therefore I was forced to sit in the waiting room and do my best to keep from chewing my fingernails to the quick, all while listening to the irritating and seemingly endless chatter and chastisement that I was meant to hear from both Dom _and_ Arthur.

At any other time I would have been very happy, ecstatic, as a matter of fact, to tell Arthur where he could go, how he could get there, and what sort of fare he might expect to be charged for the journey, but wouldn't you know that he'd swayed Cobb's ear, not to mention his favor, and it would be imprudent, to say the very least, for me to behave in any manner which might cause Dom to look at me less favorably than he already did.

"What could have possibly made you think that it was acceptable for you to have her sharing your bed?" he asked incredulously, his eyes widening in a fashion that I might have found amusing, had I not been concentrating on my desire to keep my temper from spiking in response to both his query and his tone. "That woman is fragile, Eames, and while it is important for you to assure her that she is safe, and that she is not alone, it is very inappropriate for you to offer her these assurances in your bed….."

Alright, that was a fine example of Dom pushing things a tad too far if ever I'd heard one before. "What is it that you are insinuating with that observation, Cobb?" I asked, striving, and nearly failing, to keep my tone one that was both calm and collected. "Are you suggesting that I have ulterior motives for sharing my bed with Sophie? Do you honestly have the temerity to assume that I am offering her a place beside me so that I might _seduce_ her, is that what you are implying, Dom?"

At least he had the decency to look abashed, not apologetic, as I would have preferred, but embarrassed at least, unlike Arthur, the annoyingly self-righteous, seemingly unending pain in my bollocks, who was positively giddy at this back-and-forth that he had inspired between Dom and myself. I was tempted to hit him, to inflict serious, possibly even fatal bodily harm upon his person, but I resisted the urge, even though it called to me, like a siren song, and suggested that I do things that were positively unspeakable in nature to…..

"Oh, come off it, Eames," the sanctimonious little worm said, drawing me from my ruminations, which was fortunate, I suppose, given that I was busy imagining a variety of ways in which I might show him how much he annoyed me, many of which would undoubtedly cause him a great deal of pain. "I think that we are all familiar with your _reputation_, and it's only natural that Dom and I are concerned for the wellbeing of Miss Evans. We don't want to see her make the mistake of becoming too attached to you, only to be hurt when you find someone new to fill the side of your bed that she has become so accustomed to."

I could feel my face changing its expression, I could sense that my jaw was becoming tight, and my nostrils were flaring and my lip was curling, all of which were signs that said that I was on the brink, teetering, you might say, on the precipice of losing my temper, though Arthur may as well have been blind for all of the notice that he took of me. Cobb was not so dense, thankfully, and quickly brought my attention back in his direction, before I gave into the urge to wipe that smug grin off of Arthur's face as painfully as possible.

"I don't think that you would deliberately do anything to hurt Sophie, and I think that anything intimate that happened between the two of you would be consensual, but that isn't the issue, Eames. What bothers me is the fact that you are treading dangerous waters, and are threatening to cross the boundaries of what is acceptable and what isn't, not merely between a client and a professional, but also for someone who isn't emotionally damaged and one who is."

I suppose that Dom had meant for me to agree with him, to see the wisdom of his words, but that was highly unlikely to occur anytime soon, as a matter of fact, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if I _never_ shared his opinion. Sophie wasn't our client any longer, she had been rescued, which meant that our job was done, and there was no danger of me crossing _professional boundaries_ with her. And yes, she was fragile and she was wounded, but she wasn't 'damaged', and the fact that Cobb would refer to her as such piqued my temper even further.

"I never realized that my _reputation_ was a topic that fascinated you, Arthur," I said, smiling through the anger and sitting back in my chair, as if I hadn't a care in the world and had never even considered inflicting grievous harm upon his person. "I would have thought that you had more important things to ponder, such as the dearth of your own sex life, to bother with the supposedly sordid details of my own alleged escapades."

Ah, I'd made him mad, I could see the spark of anger that was in his eyes, and it was a tiny flare that proved ample enough to warm the innermost recesses of my heart. He sputtered and stuttered a bit, and tried to answer me, but I wasn't interested in what he had to say. I suppose that it was wrong of me, to derive so much pleasure in taking the piss out of Arthur, but damned if he didn't beg for that sort of treatment, so much so that I had to wonder if he was a bit of a masochist.

"Also, Dom, you might remember that presumption often proves itself to be a foolish and hazardous path to tread upon," I said, switching my attention from tormenting Arthur, which was regrettable, to the one who seemed to have stumbled upon the notion that he ought to treat me as if I was a hormonal adolescent who needed to be kept in check, lest I hurt others with my uncontrollable lust. "I won't discuss what has transpired between Sophie and me, because, quite simply, it's none of your damned business, but suffice it to say, I would never hurt her. I would also like you to note that she has been rescued, she is safe, therefore I'm not crossing any sort of _professional boundaries_….."

"Eames, I wasn't trying to….."

"Kindly allow me to finish speaking before you make your denials," I said, training my eyes solely on him in a way that all but dared him to take offense over the fact that I'd interrupted him, given his own rudeness. "I would also like you to refrain from referring to Sophie as being one who is 'damaged'. Granted, she has survived an experience that ought to have defeated her, but to presume that it has, and that she's incapable of a relationship with a man is asinine, and I'd rather you kept your opinion to yourself, and lessen the chance that she might overhear you."

I knew that the conversation was far from over, I could see that both Arthur and Cobb were anxious to fill my ears and test the elasticity of my nerves, not to mention the hold that I held on my temper, with one observation and bit of unwanted _advice_ after another, but I had heard all that I wanted to. That was why I made my way out of the waiting room and down the hall, toward the examination rooms, well, that, and a nearly overwhelming need to be close to Sophie.

The middle-aged nurse who'd been guarding the door the first time that I'd attempted to make an entrance was gone, replaced by a grandmotherly type, who accepted my smile, along with a wink and a compliment, and ushered me inside while she blushed and tittered. I suppose this subterfuge verified Arthur's claims that I was a shameless lothario, but I was desperate, damn it all, and desperate times called for desperate measures, wouldn't you agree?

I was rewarded for my shenanigans when I saw the smile that curved Sophie's lips when I opened the door and her eyes met mine. I could see that she was scared, so much so that she was on the brink of tears, but happiness and relief quickly took the place of the fear, and she hesitated for just a moment before she held out her hand to me in a bid that I cross the room and take the seat beside her.

I was eager to do as she'd asked of me, and her hand was small and soft…and shaking, as I took it in my own. I traced my thumb over hers, again and again, watching its progress, until I heard her sigh, and then I moved my gaze back to her face, and watched her closely for just a moment, before I laid my other hand on the side of her head and drew her to my shoulder, stifling a sigh all my own when she slowly, and shyly, snuggled close to my side.

"I knew that you wouldn't leave me alone in here," she said, and I heard her take a deep breath, and then she ran her hand over my chest, bringing it to rest over my heart. She'd told me that was her favorite place, because she could feel it beating, and I imagined that it was a rhythm that had just picked up its pace. "I could have done it on my own, if I'd had to, but I'm glad that I don't have to."

I smiled and laid my hand on top of hers, tracing out her initials with a fingertip, then, brazenly, hers, plus mine. It was a little childish I suppose, and hovered on the border, threatening to that which was disgustingly saccharine in nature, but I didn't care if I was behaving in a schmaltzy manner. I was very fond of Sophie, and in some ways I was in danger of becoming just as attached to her as she was to me, and, surprisingly enough, given my past, it was a realization that lightened my heart.

Hmm…who would have believed that I had it in me?

Sophie's POV

The walls were a beautifully rich and calming shade of blue, but then, I'd always been partial to the color, so I suppose that it made sense, without probing the reason too closely, that I'd find the shade to be welcome and comforting. Everything in my life had been hues of grey for so long, I'd almost forgot that there were other colors in existence, ones that I enjoyed, even a few that I adored, and I was wrapped in those feelings in this room, which was why it was so tragic to me that it belonged to a shrink.

Dr. David Axton was not at all what I'd expected him to be. He wasn't sitting upright in his chair, legs crossed and clipboard at the ready, so that he could record the details of my life. Instead he was relaxed in his seat, almost sprawled, as a matter of fact, with one ankle resting on his knee, and there wasn't a clipboard in sight, or a notebook, or a tape recorder. It seemed that he simply meant to listen to me as I spoke, without taking notes of any kind, and I wondered if that meant that he had a photographic memory, or if he'd already formed an opinion on me and was simply speaking to me in an effort to humor me.

I would have felt much better if I had Scruffy sitting on my lap, but I'd left him with Eames in the waiting room, and that was where he was going to stay. I would have felt even better if Eames could have come in and took the seat beside me, but Dom said that Dr. Axton preferred to meet with his patients one-on-one, unless he was conducting a couples therapy session, and that certainly wasn't what I was there for, not to mention Eames, so he'd agreed to wait for me, and keep Scruffy company until I was finished with my appointment, and I had to accept that…whether I liked it or not.

"I believe that I will have a cup of tea," the doctor said, bringing me out of my thoughts with a start, and a quick glance at the clock told me that I'd been sitting there, staring off into space, for the past five minutes, and my resulting blush of self-consciousness made my face feel like it was on fire. "Would you care to join me, Miss Evans?"

His tone was one that was friendly, but not familiar, and I thanked him, in my mind, for refraining from mentioning that he'd startled me, or, even worse, apologizing for doing so. It was bad enough to be caught daydreaming, when I was supposed to be there to receive help, but for him to feel the need to express contrition for bringing me back to the here and now, where he was spending his time, to be a help and a guide to me, would have been a hundred times worse, at the very least.

"Yes, I would, Dr. Axton," I said, smoothing my hands over my pants and hoping that my blush would die a very quick death. I watched him rise from his chair, and wondered, to myself, of course, how many psychiatrists wore Levi 501's and hiking boots to the office. I wouldn't have thought that there would be very many who did, but they suited him perfectly. I couldn't imagine him dressed in the manner that Eames seemed to prefer, all dapper and debonair, just as I couldn't imagine Eames in Dr. Axton's attire.

I suppose that we dressed to suit our personalities, at least, those who were assured of who they were did, while others dressed in a way that they hoped would snare the attention and approval of those that they admired…and then there were people like me, who had dressed myself based on who I was until I was taken, and then I wore what they wanted me to without question, well, without question after I'd been beaten the first couple of times, that is.

"I hope you like this blend," he said, bringing me a china cup set on a matching saucer. "It has honey, chamomile, and vanilla."

He didn't offer me any sugar, as I had hoped he would, given how little I'd had of sweets over the past decade, but a small sip of the tea proved that it had a natural sweetness all its own, and sugar would have probably ruined the taste. Dr. Axton sat down in his chair and resumed his position that conveyed comfort and ease and blew on his tea for a moment, then took a sip that wasn't cautious at all, but if he'd burned his mouth, he did a good job of keeping it to himself, and followed the drink with a deep, appreciative sigh.

"The world is such a busy place, and it's noisy too, isn't it, Miss Evans?" he asked, setting his tea down on the table that rested beside his chair, the one that held a box of Kleenex and a pair of reading glasses, along with a framed photo of the doctor, posed with his arm around a lovely woman, and a golden retriever that I would have sworn was smiling, resting easily at their feet. "I've learned that it's the little things that get me through each and every day, the things that probably seem insignificant to someone else, but which hold comfort and familiarity with me, the sort that makes me feel safe and warm and at ease. What are the things that help you, Miss Evans? What things in your life make it possible to get through the day?"

Eames. That was the first thought that popped into my head, because he was the one who comforted me, who was familiar to me, and he was the one who made me feel safe and warm and at ease, but I didn't dare give a voice to that thought. If I said his name to the doctor, he'd probably want to know who he was, and where and when I'd met him, and then he would think that I was a kook, if he hadn't already formed that opinion, because what sane person developed an instant attachment to someone who was literally a complete stranger?

"Um…I guess that would have to be my stuffed dog, Scruffy," I answered, belatedly remembering that my "relationship" with a plush animal wasn't likely to go over with the doctor any better than my connection with Eames would. "Sunlight helps me as well, and the feel of the wind on my face. I also like to hear the sound of people talking around me and I love to feel a plush mattress beneath me while I sleep and….."

My voice died away, and I felt my face growing warm all over again. He'd asked for a couple of examples, for crying out loud, what he _hadn't_ wanted was an entire list of the things that I enjoyed. After all, the only thing that he'd been talking about was a cup of tea, that was the only thing he'd mentioned, not a play-by-play report of each and every thing in his life that made him happy. Of course, judging by my surroundings, I was willing to bet that his sweetheart and that cute pooch brought enjoyment into his life as well, but he hadn't said anything about them, had he? He hadn't rambled on and on, like someone whose tongue had come unhinged, had he? He hadn't….?"

"Those all sound very nice, Miss Evans, and I can see, from a purely observant point of view, how the things that you have mentioned might mean more to someone who has survived what you have, given all that you were denied, but I don't think that any of these things were ranked first in your mind. There was something else, possibly some_one_ else who means a great deal to you, am I right?"

_So much for pretending to be normal_, I thought to myself. "Yes, you are right," I whispered, taking a big gulp of my tea, and feeling the blush on my face double, then triple in intensity.

"Will you share with me, Miss Evans?" he asked softly, bending forward, to take the saucer, which was shaking and rattling about, from my hands. "Who is this person? What is their name? Who are they to you?"

I pictured his smile in my mind, and I returned it with one of my own. I felt his arms wrapped around me, holding me tight, and I placed my hands on my own arms, so that I could pretend that I was holding him in return. I felt his lips as they pressed against my brow, right on my hairline, and heard his voice whispering, "My Sophie", and closed my eyes, while I rocked myself back and forth.

"He's Eames," I murmured, remembering the way that he'd looked, standing above me, offering me his hand, after Jude had crumpled to the floor. He's the one who saved me; he's the one who will never let anyone hurt me ever again…he's the one who will get me through each and every day."


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Sophie's POV

I had loved to cook, before I'd been taken, and I'd been good at it, I'd loved gathering new recipes and trying them out. I'd bought one cookbook after another, and had all of my co-workers sample what I'd made. Ten years was a long time to go without the feel of a knife in my hand, but I returned to it as easily as if I'd never been forced to put it down. I peeled and chopped an onion, sautéing it with a couple of cloves of garlic, and then set about the task of rolling a few leaves of basil together, so that I could chiffonade them, and I marveled at my abilities, and my memory, for reverting so easily and seamlessly into what I had loved…what I _still_ loved.

"Wouldn't it be easier for you to use the stuff that comes ready-made in a jar?" Ariadne asked, watching me closely as I worked, in a manner that suggested that what I was doing was confusing to her. "It always tastes fine to me, it wouldn't be so much work for you, and I am willing to bet that none of the guys would know the difference between homemade spaghetti sauce and Ragu, and even if they did know, they wouldn't care."

I poured nearly an entire cupful of pinot grigio into the pan, raising a delicious smelling hiss of steam into the air. "It would be a lot easier," I agreed, stirring the contents of the skillet. "But it wouldn't be nearly as satisfying, or as fun for me, because I love to cook, and it's been so long since I've had the pleasure of standing in a kitchen and bringing things to life, one step at a time, and that makes it worth all of the trouble that I'm going through."

The concoction in the pan bubbled and boiled and smelled downright heavenly, and I let it simmer for a few moments, then I added the big cans of stewed tomatoes that I'd opened. I guess that there would be some people who would point out that my sauce wasn't one hundred percent made from scratch, given that I wasn't using fresh tomatoes, but I preferred a sauce made with the canned variety myself. I stirred the contents of the skillet, until everything was married together, and then I added salt and sugar, and the fresh basil and oregano and parsley, and once everything was properly mixed, I turned my attention to assembling the loaves of garlic bread, and smiled when I saw that Ariadne had beat me to the task of mixing the sticks of butter with the freshly cut garlic and parsley that I'd set aside.

"I wouldn't have thought that this sort of thing was to your taste," I told her, taking one of three loaves of Italian bread in hand and slicing it in half, lengthwise. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I appreciate the help, and the company as well, but I wouldn't have thought that domestic chores were to your liking."

After so many years with a stuffed dog and a twitchy-eyed psychopath as my lone companions, I definitely craved contact with my fellow human beings, the ones that didn't make me nervous, that is, and I had liked Ariadne the moment that I met her. I couldn't imagine anyone in existence who wouldn't like her, as a matter of fact, and when I was around her I allowed myself to imagine that there was a possibility that I might have found a friend in her, though I didn't allow my hopes to rise too much, because the last thing that I needed right now was to be disappointed.

"They're not, but I can't just sit back and watch you do all of the work, can I?" she asked, moving to Eames' refrigerator after she'd finished readying the butter for the bread. "Do you think that there is anything in here that we could make a salad with, or am I hoping for too much?"

Hmm, a nice salad would be perfect with the spaghetti and the bread. "As luck would have it, I went with Eames to do a little grocery shopping, and we stocked up on anything and everything edible. I didn't supervise him when he was putting everything up, but there should be some romaine in there somewhere, and cucumbers and radishes and carrots as well. I even bought some cherry tomatoes, which was a good choice, because what's a salad without tomatoes, am I right?"

It occurred to me that she might not have been interested in a rundown of my shopping list, and she might have thought that I was annoying, babbling the way that I was about vegetables. I wasn't sure what I ought to say, and what I ought to keep to myself, but hadn't I simply been answering her question? Maybe I ought to have stuck with telling her that yes, there was stuff to make a salad, maybe I shouldn't have added any other details to the conversation at all…..

"And eggs," she added, darting into the refrigerator and taking out everything that I'd mentioned, and the carton of eggs that Eames had bought as well. "I was thinking that I would boil a couple of these and chop them up to go on the top of the salad. How does that sound to you?"

Oh, thank God. She didn't think that I was a babbling weirdo, or, if she did, she was very good at hiding it from me. Either way, I was glad that things were starting to feel normal again, and I smiled at her and nodded. "That sounds great," I told her, and was pleased to hear that my voice didn't sound the least bit shaky or nervous. "I know a recipe for dill vinaigrette. Does that sound like a good dressing choice, or should we just stick with the bottled stuff that we bought today?"

It was difficult to please everyone, but it was part of my personality, to make everyone happy, and it occurred to me that dill vinaigrette might not be to everyone's liking. They might want ranch dressing, or thousand island, they might even prefer the bottled Italian dressing over my homemade vinaigrette…I just couldn't be sure, and I didn't want to make the wrong choice…

_Get a grip on yourself_! I admonished, inside my head, so that Ariadne wouldn't hear me and draw the conclusion that I was having a moment of craziness, or, even worse, that she would take the outburst as a sign that I was permanently unhinged. _It's salad dressing, you goof, not something earthshaking and life altering, for crying out loud_!

"I'll take something that is homemade over the bottled stuff any day, as long as I don't have to be the one who makes it," she said, setting all of her salad supplies on the counter. "As for the guys, well, I can't say for certain what they like, but if they're anything like most other men, they'll eat whatever you put in front of them, and never notice whether something came from a can, a bottle, or a jar, because they'll be too busy stuffing their faces….."

"That's an unwarranted generalization, Ariadne," a voice, _his_ voice, declared from the doorway of the kitchen, freezing me in place as I gathered the ingredients that I would need to assemble the vinaigrette. "I believe that there aren't many discernible differences between me and most of the men that I am acquainted with, but I am very partial to food that is made by hand, as opposed to coming from a can, or a bottle, or a jar, and I'm willing to wager that most men would voice that same opinion, if they were asked, rather than those around us, that being women, assuming to know who we are, and what we favor, simply because we are male."

I positioned myself at the counter and did my best to look busy, to pretend that I wasn't hanging on his every word and watching his every movement, and I thought that I was doing an admirable job with my playacting, that is, I _was_, until he decided to cross the room and stand beside me. He leaned against the counter and watched as I added all of the dressing ingredients to a blender, and I blushed, firstly, because he was standing so close to me, and secondly, because my hands were noticeably shaking, undoubtedly because he was so near me, and because I was flustered and self-conscious and painfully aware of how good he smelled, a warm scent that reached me, and filled me, in spite of all of the other aromas that were in the air.

He was looking at my face and taking notice of my blush, I was sure of that, and then his eyes moved to my hands, which wouldn't stop shaking, no matter how much I concentrated on keeping them still. I hoped that he wouldn't think that I was uneasy in his presence, or, even worse, that I was scared, and after a few moments passed by in awkward silence I started to apologize to him, and to assure him that he hadn't done anything that was upsetting to me, but he reached out and touched my hand before I had a chance to say a word, and the feel of his palm on me was enough to silence me completely.

"Everything smells delicious, Sophie," he said softly, sliding his fingertip down my middle finger, then beneath it, to stroke the pad of the tip, before he returned to the back of my hand, which he rubbed gently as well, once, twice, then a third time, until the blush on my face deepened and started to spread. "It was kind of you to cook for everyone, thank you for that, my darling."

Oh, man…did he have any idea at all of the effect that he had on me with his voice, especially when he said words like that, dah-ling, an endearment that had been around for years, one that I heard frequently throughout my life, but which had never sounded quite as tantalizing as it did coming from his mouth? And even better than that, it hadn't been a simple _darling_ that he'd used, but _my darling_. It wasn't quite as powerful as hearing _my Sophie_, but it was heady stuff none the less, and I considered it a miraculous feat on my part, to keep myself from grabbing hold of his hand and raising it to my mouth, so that I could kiss it all over.

"It was the least that I could do," I whispered, daring to meet his eyes for a moment, before I returned my attention to the salad dressing that I was trying to make, and was likely to ruin, if I allowed my attention to center on him too completely. "Now, go wash up. Dinner will be ready in half an hour."

It was odd, to be in a position where I could give him orders, and even stranger was the fact that I felt totally comfortable doing so, and was treated to another of his smiles as a reply, and a quick tightening of his palm on the back of my hand before he rushed to do my bidding. Everything was going so well, my nerves were calm and I was smiling…and then the door opened, admitting Dominic and Arthur into the room, and just like that, everything went from good to bad and I fought against the sudden urge to hide.

* * *

There were a variety of emotions to be found in a cemetery. There was grief, of course, some silent, some piercing, but always, without fail, there was sadness etched on every surface. Some found peace amongst those who'd gone on before them; others were in agony, despair that made them weep uncontrollably, great, gasping sobs that sounded as if they originated in the depths of their souls and were wrenched from them forcefully, painfully. All in all, it was a spectacle that Jude could have done without, but there wasn't much that he could do to alleviate the unpleasantness, not without drawing attention to himself that he neither needed nor wanted, so he chose instead to suffer in silence, though it vexed him to do so.

He knelt at Shiloh's grave and cleared away the debris that had littered her resting place since he'd last been to see her. He wasn't certain why he bothered to look after her from time to time, after all, it wasn't as if he'd genuinely cared for her at any point in his life, but he found that tending her grave gave him a modicum of joy, and so he continued to do so. It was probably for the best, after all, a mourner in a cemetery who didn't visit a grave of some sort was bound to draw unwanted attention, and the last thing that he needed was to have people looking at him with interest in their eyes.

"Everyone always said that you were beautiful, they said that you were _luminous_, that you were _angelic_. They loved you the first time that they laid eyes on you…and then they would see me, and I would see their smiles falter a bit, before they forced their lips to stretch back into a beam of friendliness, only they couldn't fake it, could they? They would try, I guess that I have to give them credit for that, don't I? But at the same time, that was worse, and I wanted to kill them for their sympathy, I wanted to take their false cheer and shove it down their throats, until they choked on it, I wanted….."

"Is this your idea of keeping a low profile?" a voice spoke beside him, making him jump, which made his temper, which had already been climbing, flare completely to life. "Let's be honest, buddy, an ugly bastard like you would look out of place most anywhere you went, but your creepy factor goes off of the damned charts when people catch you talking to a grave, if you know what I mean."

He really didn't have anything to worry about, after all, most people didn't visit a graveyard once the sun started going down, but Jude was still embarrassed to have lost control of himself in front of someone who already looked down on him. It was bad enough, to have his abilities called into question, but to be judged and evaluated by someone who looked at him like he was a slug…well, that made handling it all the harder.

"You have the balls to criticize me, after you let him be humiliated and robbed of his joy in the final moments of his becoming?" Jude hissed, wanting, more than anything, to wrap his hands around the neck of the other and choke the life from him. "It was the one chance that you had to please him before he left this life, and you allowed it to be squandered, yet you dare to find fault with me?"

It pleased him to see that he'd properly chastened his brother. He was a useful resource, there was no denying his strengths, but Jude had never liked him, and he'd never trusted him, though now he had no choice but to depend on him and it was a fact that enraged him, that threatened to send him into a fury. He wanted revenge, he wanted to taste blood, to see it flow freely, and he would, once the time was right. He would be the one who made things right, he would show his loyalty and his strength, he would prove himself to all of them…once the time was right.

* * *

Eames' POV

I wonder what the others would say if they could see me at that moment, sitting behind Sophie on my bed, gently working a brush through her hair. I suppose that it was an act that could have been the beginning of a seduction with some people, but there wasn't anything like that going on between Sophie and me. Oh, it was an intimate moment, to be sure, one that was born from trust and meant to soothe and comfort, but I had no intention of seducing her, none at all…not unless she asked me to, that is.

Her gown was white cotton, with a slight trimming of embroidered lace, to make what was plain into what was pretty, and I ought to have been of the opinion that it was a prim and proper garment, one that wouldn't stir me in the least, but she managed to make it alluring. Of course, I suspected that she could wear burlap and I would think that it was beautifully tempting, but I couldn't think about things like that, I had to concentrate on calming her down, on soothing her, so that she would be able to sleep.

I couldn't say for certain what it was about Dom and Arthur that unsettled her so much, but it was obvious that they made her nervous. I'd been inclined to believe that Arthur was the one that bothered her to begin with, but then I noticed that she was tense around Dom as well, and that had to have been why her muscles were so tight, so much so that I could see the stiffness in her neck and her shoulders.

She did relax while I brushed her hair, enough that she leaned back against me, but there was still a good deal of tension in her muscles. She took a deep breath as I slowly drew the brush through her hair, and sighed, just like she always did, and I felt a sudden and breathtaking tightening in my stomach in response, just like I always did. Maybe I was wrong when I said that there wasn't a seduction taking place, but she wasn't the one who was being drawn in. I was the one who was captivated and mesmerized, I was the one who was mired in a state of constant longing and acute yearning…blast…I was kind of pathetic, wasn't I?

I finished with her hair and she started to move away from me once she felt my movements slowing, but I stopped her by sliding my hands onto her shoulders and gently caressing the muscles that were bunched and bulging. I worried, to begin with, that I might hurt her, but she dispelled my concerns by sighing, and arching her back, then moving back against me, resting her sweetly rounded backside between my thighs, and almost, but not quite, rubbing herself against me in a way that made me suck in a breath between teeth that were tightly clenched.

"Hmm…Eames, are you alright?" she asked, in a tone that was softer and huskier than normal, which did nothing at all to lessen the pressure in my trousers. "Am I crowding you too much? I don't mean to invade your personal space, you just feel so nice and warm against my back, but I'll move if you want me to."

An intelligent man, one who wasn't partial to torture, would have asked her to move away from the parts of him that were finding her closeness so appealing. He would see that it was best, for both of them, for her to move to a distance that was safe, and he would encourage her to stay there, for both their sakes, but I was discovering that I wasn't likely to go with what was wise where she was concerned, and that I foolishly allowed my heart, as well as parts of my being that rested south of my belly button, to make my decisions for me.

"I'm fine, Sophie," I assured her, which was a lie, but there was no need for me to share that bit of truth with her, was there? "And you aren't crowding me, nor are you invading my personal space. Please stay right where you are…unless I'm crowding you, that is."

Oh, hell. Why did I say that out loud? It was bad enough, I would imagine, for me to run the risk of brushing my erection against her backside, but it was much worse, to voice the innuendo aloud that I was in danger of doing just that, given how closely she was sitting. All that I could hope was that she wouldn't hear my words for what they were meant to be, or, if she did, that she wouldn't take offense.

"How could you possibly be crowding me?" she asked, turning to look at me over her shoulder, an action which pressed her even closer to the part of me that was definitely determined to encroach on her personal space. "I'm the one who's pressed against you, not the other…_oh_."

The word left her in a whisper and her eyes widened as it dawned on her what I'd meant with my words. I bit back a curse for my behavior, and waited for her to flee from me, and was surprised, shocked, really, when she stayed where she was, glancing down, and, if I wasn't mistaken, she smiled, and then turned back around. I could have been imaging the smile, anything was possible, given that I felt a little lightheaded, but I liked to imagine that I really had seen a smile curving her lips. The only question that remained was what it was that had made her so happy…surely she couldn't be pleased that I wanted her, could she?


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Eames' POV

She had beautiful shoulders. I'd never had reason to take notice of them before, but now I could see that they were quite lovely, dappled with the sun that shone through the leaves of the oak that had provided us with shade while we picnicked. They were the sort of shoulders that beckoned to a man, the kind that made him want to lean over and press his lips against them, a soft and gentle caress, to show her that she was safe, that she was cherished, and that she was enchanting, so much so that it made his heart hurt just to look at her.

She'd gathered her hair in a ponytail, one that was held in place, just behind the crown of her head, with a large black ribbon. She'd taken a curling iron and created loose ringlets to fall down between her shoulder blades, the sort of curls that tempted me to twine one around my finger. They were the kind that called to me, and encouraged me to untie her ribbon, so that her hair would tumble down and hang loose all around her face, free to wave in rhythm with the wind. That would give me the perfect opportunity to run my hands through her silken locks, and then, to lift one to my nose and immerse myself in the scent, provided that she didn't chastise me for messing up her hair, that is…but I didn't dare.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it, Eames?" she asked quietly, turning to look at me over the shoulder that I'd been admiring. "I used to take all of this for granted, the sunshine, the wind on my face, a meal with a friend, but I'll never do that again. People always promise that they're never going to forget how fortunate they are, after something awful happens to them, but they do forget, after a while, and then they go back to the way they were, but not me. I know what it means to lose everything that you hold dear, and that's why I know that I'll never get tired of seeing the sun rise and set, of being free, to go wherever I want, whenever I want…of sharing each experience with someone who means so much to me."

I would have been happy to listen to her voice for hours on end; I would never tire of hearing the soft huskiness, and the varying tones and cadences. I could listen to her speak to me about everyday things, of her thoughts and her feelings, and never grow weary. She could read to me, while I lay with my head cradled in her lap. I could savor her tales and her memories, sitting behind her, brushing her hair for her and pressing my lips against her shoulder…..

Dear God, what on earth had come over me? I knew that I was taken with Sophie; I knew that she was important to me, precious really, but when had I become such a romantic? Granted, I had enjoyed my fair share of liaisons and dalliances throughout my life, but I could not recall another instance when I had experienced the sort of bond that I had with Sophie. I'd never been inspired to romantic thoughts nor constantly found myself mesmerized by any of the others, and I was beginning to fear that I was in very real danger of making a complete ass of myself, if I wasn't careful to keep a firm grip on my emotions whenever she was near.

"Eames?" she said, reaching out one hand, to lie on top of mine. "You're drifting a bit, aren't you? Am I really such boring company, or is there some other reason that you seem to be in a world of your own?"

How could she ever think that she was boring? Didn't she know the sort of sway that she held over me; couldn't she sense it in every word that I spoke to her, in each look that I cast her way, and with every touch of my hand? I met her eyes with my own, and felt the same zing of awareness that I always experienced whenever I immersed myself in her gaze and turned my hand over, so that our palms would meet, would caress one another, almost as if they were embracing.

"I did not mean to drift away, my dear," I said, closing my fingers and moving my thumb, in a slow caress, against hers. "And I did not do so because you bore me, I can assure you that you keep me in a constant state of fascination and enchantment, and how could someone who was _boring_ manage to do that?"

She smiled at me and I was certain that I saw her blush as well, and then she turned her attention to our hands. She pulled away from me, and I started to tighten my hold, to thwart her attempt, but I knew that I had no right to do so, and I reluctantly allowed her to go, only to have her return to me a split-second later. I didn't receive the warmth and welcome of her entire hand, but the feel of the tip of her finger as it moved softly and gently against my palm, tracing out the callouses that I'd worn into my flesh, made up for any loss that I might have felt.

"May I ask where you went?" she murmured, raising her eyes to my face, and flushing even rosier than she already was when she found me looking at her, staring at her, if the truth were to be known. "Or is that a topic that is off-limits, or maybe even one that is none of my business at all?"

I wondered if she knew that the blush that had started on her face had spread, down her throat, then further, to color her collarbone and what I could see of her chest, before it disappeared beneath her bodice. It was a rare thing in this day and time, to find a woman who blushed at all, let alone one who did so as frequently as my Sophie did, but it was one more thing that I liked about her, one more thing that endeared her to me, and I just couldn't help but wish that I could see every last bit of the flushing of her skin, no matter how hard I tried…okay, okay, I really didn't put much effort into that, but I meant to, I promise you that I did.

"Do you really want to know, Sophie?" I asked softly, hesitating for just a moment, before I moved my palm away from the caress of her fingertip, placing it on her wrist. "Are you certain that you want to know where it is that I go, and what I am thinking, or would you prefer to leave things as they are? I can't take back the words after I've spoken them aloud….."

She raised her fingertip to my lips, the one that had been tracing a pattern on my hand, and it was equally gentle on my mouth, and that simple touch was sufficient to cease my ability to speak. I wanted to kiss her finger, I wanted to raise her wrist to my nose, so that I might experience the scent of her perfume, and then touch my lips to her delicate skin, but I didn't dare to act upon those impulses. I worried that I was pushing her too fast, I was afraid that she would flee from me, once she knew the truth, yet, at the same time, I felt that I had no choice but to be completely honest with her, no matter what the consequences for my actions might be.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know, would I?" she said, meeting my gaze directly, instead of shyly looking away, as she would have in the past. "I want you to tell me what you think and what you feel, I want to know everything about you, but only if that is what you want as well."

Hmm…what would she think of me, if I was to tell her the things that I truly thought and felt? How would she regard me, if she was to know that my eyes kept traveling to the bow that rested on the back of her neck, the one that was holding her bodice in place, and pictured my hand untying it and letting it fall free? Would she be scared, if she knew that I wanted to run my lips over her clavicle, would she run from me if I told her that I wanted to trace my fingers down the hollow between her breasts, followed closely by my lips, that I dreamed of teasing her nipples with the tip of my tongue?

"Do you know how special you are to me, Sophie?" I asked, running my fingertip over her wrist, just as she'd done to my palm, and I was pleased to note that she shivered in response to the gentle touch. "Have I shown you that you make me happy?"

"Y-yes," she whispered, moving closer to me, enough so that her dress was resting against the leg of my trousers, which had to have been a good sign, at least, that was how I was going to take it. "Is that what you think about, Eames? Are those the thoughts that distract you, or is there something that draws you even more?"

It dawned on me, in that moment, that she wasn't the least bit scared of the thoughts and feelings that were coursing through me. I was seized by an epiphany, one that told me that she knew _exactly_ what was in my mind and my heart, and I wondered when I'd lost my talent for subterfuge. It seemed that it was impossible for me to hide anything from her, even when I knew that I ought to, but, then, why should I? I knew what I wanted; I was determined to have her for my own, so why would I want to keep the truth to myself?

"I always think about you," I confessed and my heart turned over when I saw her eyes brighten in response to my words. "You distract me in the best way possible, and you draw me in with everything that you do and say. I apologize for not being able to hide my preoccupation, my dear, but some things are simply too fierce to contain…have I frightened you, Sophie?"

I knew that I hadn't. I oughtn't to have known her as well as I did, but I could see that she was happy, not scared, but the question needed to be voiced aloud none the less. I needed her to know that I was concerned about pushing her too far, too fast. She had to see that I wouldn't take a single step forward until I was certain that she was going to be by my side, holding my hand tightly in hers, and that was why I had to question her, not because I couldn't see what was looking back at me from her eyes.

"No, you haven't frightened me, Eames," she said, sliding ever closer to me, until she was pressed up against me, arm to arm and leg to leg. "I was just thinking that it's a wonder, given how observant you are, that you haven't noticed I tend to wander a bit whenever you are near as well. Isn't it nice to know that we have that in common?"

She accepted my feelings, and, even more than that, she returned them, she _shared_ them with me. I'd had the strength, until that moment, to hold back, to resist the urge to be bold, but how could I do that any longer, how could I stop myself from bringing what had only been thoughts and fantasies to life, now that I had been assured that I was not alone in what I wanted? This was my chance to give in, to experience a small taste of all that there was to know of her, and I was going to take it for myself.

I lifted her hand to my face and placed her palm upon my cheek. I rubbed myself against the softness of her hand, and savored her embrace, and then I turned and placed my nose against her wrist. I drew in her scent, that tantalizing, feminine bouquet, which followed me wherever I went, and then I raised my nose and brazenly pressed my lips to her flesh, marveling at the feel of her soft skin. This was our first kiss, save for those I'd placed upon her forehead, one that was so simple and so sweet, the first of many, I would imagine. It wasn't all that I wanted to share with her, it wasn't even close, but it was enough…for now.

Sophie's POV

Morris Raymond was trying to intimidate me, that much was clear to me, from the tenor of his voice, which had lowered, and roughened when he spoke to me, as opposed to the one that he'd used when he spoke to Dominic Cobb, to his body language and demeanor. I could imagine that the detective was accustomed to using his bearish size and unwavering gaze to unnerve those that he interrogated, but I wasn't going to be cowed so easily, because I was made of stronger stuff than that…wasn't I?

"If you're really who you say you are, then you should have no problem returning to the place where you were held prisoner. You should be ready, willing and able to provide me with the details of your abduction and help us piece together what happened to all of the women who occupied the other cells in that shithole with you. Why are you being so difficult, Miss Evans? Don't you want us to catch the fellow that was holding you captive, or, could it be that you don't want him to be punished because you didn't mind his company all that much and….."

"You will _not_ use that sort of language when you speak to Miss Evans," Eames hissed, interrupting the detective with his words, and by slamming one of his fists against the table that we were seated at, while the other hand found, and held, mine beneath the cover of said table. "Perhaps you were not raised to know any better, Detective Raymond, but it is, as a rule, considered vulgar for a gentleman to curse in the presence of a lady. You will also show her the further courtesy of resisting the urge to insult her as you question her, and keep your tendencies to presume the worst of her character, for your own amusement, to yourself, if you please."

It amazed me that the bearish bully allowed Eames to speak as freely as he did, but I suppose that had something to do with the fact that he couldn't stop sputtering his disbelief. I clutched Eames' hand tightly; taking comfort from the familiarity of his flesh pressed against mine, and used that to reacquaint myself with the strength that still resided within me, in spite of the efforts of evil men to break me down completely.

"Listen here, Pretty Boy," Raymond growled, preparing the stage for what he undoubtedly hoped would be a stinging retort, but it was my turn to speak, not his, and he was going to hear what I had to say, whether he wanted to or not. "You've got a hell of a lot of balls if you think….."

"Would you like to know what I think, Detective?" I asked softly, my voice carrying easily enough without me raising it angrily, as Eames and Raymond had. "I think that you know exactly who I am, because your partner invested a great deal of his time in the investigation of my disappearance before he passed away. I know that he did this, because I have seen the paperwork, and I'm willing to wager that if _I_ have seen it, then you have as well."

"Now, wait just a damned….."

"And since you have seen that paperwork, you know that a missing person report was filed by a coworker of mine, an older woman, named Lois McCall, who I am sad to learn has passed away. That report, which was included in the file of paperwork, detailed my walk home, the same one that I made each and every day, and Lois knew those facts very well, because she walked with me twice a week. I would imagine that there would have been clues left behind, ones that would have spoken to the nature of my abduction, and, possibly, to the identity of my kidnapper as well, had Lois not been given the treatment reserved for absentminded old ladies who were a little confused about the facts, because that _was _what happened, wasn't it, Detective."

"There was no reason to take her seriously. Who would buy the story of someone who can't keep the day of the week straight in her mind, let alone the details of a supposed….?"

"So she was brushed aside, and a story about me growing tired of city life and returning home, even though my family was all gone, was accepted instead…that was some brilliant detective work that your department provided, Mr. Raymond, you ought to be proud."

He started sputtering again, and his face had turned an alarming shade of red, but I wasn't about to allow him to get the upper hand on the conversation, not now, when I'd already come this far. "I am willing to return to the place where I was held, and provide you with every detail of the women that I met, not only for myself, but for them as well, so that everyone might know who they were, and not only that they were Garrett McGill's victims."

He relaxed somewhat and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, so that they rested on his stomach, the pose and mannerisms of one who thought that they might be getting their way, but were prepared, at any moment, to give themselves over to the urge to pout, if they were mistaken. It was something that was annoying in children past the age of three, on a grown man it was downright pathetic.

"Now, then, that's all that I wanted….."

"I wasn't finished," I snapped, raising my voice just a tad, and found that it felt good to do so. "I would also like to address your comment, the one that pertained to Jude." I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, willing the tears that I could feel building more and more with each moment that passed to stay out of sight, so that I wouldn't be humiliated any further. "I don't know what sort of cruelty or spite would persuade you to suggest that I was protecting Jude, that my actions were meant to shield him, but I can assure you that nothing could be further from the truth, Detective. I live with the fear, each and every day, that he will find me, that he will take me away, back to that cell, so that he can finish what he started. I don't simply hope that he is caught, Mr. Raymond, I _pray_ that he is, I even pray that he is killed, rather than caught, so I will know, once and for all, that I am safe…does that sound like someone who is suffering from Stockholm Syndrome to you, Detective?"

He didn't say anything for a moment after that, and when he did speak, it was to mutter an apology to me, but that wasn't what made me feel strong, what made me feel better. I was proud of myself, and more than a little amazed, as well, for standing my ground and meeting him head-on, rather than hiding, as I would have in the past. That was the thing that gave me strength, and assured me that I was going to be just fine, and I felt better because Eames hadn't let go of my hand the entire time, not even for a moment. As a matter of fact, he'd tightened his grip, and was rubbing his thumb across the back of my hand, and I knew that I didn't have anything to fear, not ever again, not so long as he was there to walk beside me.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Sophie's POV

His eyes were so beautiful and complex, I was certain that I could look into them for hours, one day after the next, and I would see something new in their depths each and every time. There was an old saying that told us that the eyes were the windows into our souls, but I'd never really noticed much about what I saw looking back at me in a person's gaze until after I'd been taken. I'd learned to be afraid of looking into a person's eyes after that. Jude had taught me that lesson, but all of that had changed when I met Eames. I'd been hesitant, to begin with, timid and fearful, but he'd been patient and kind, and now I met his gaze with no difficulty at all, and what I saw looking back at me took my breath away.

I was sitting in the overstuffed chair that rested in an alcove just off of the kitchen. Two of the three walls were covered in shelves, which held a variety of different books, as well as knickknacks that Eames had obviously collected during his travels around the world. The third wall had a window that took up the majority of available space, and the glass was the sort that you would see in an old western, the kind that you could see through, but not clearly, and I loved it. It hadn't taken long for this little place to become my favorite spot in the house, except during the night and in the morning, when it was time for me to be asleep in Eames' bed, and I'd retreated to the solitude of my private nook right after lunch, to curl up with a good book, just as I always did...but this time there was someone watching me.

I was busily perusing _The Joy of Cooking_, in the hope that something would jump from the page and inspire me for dinner that night, when I felt the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I sensed that there was someone standing just outside of the alcove, watching me, but I didn't want to look, to see who it was. Several moments passed by in silence, while my mouth grew dry and my heart hammered faster and faster in my chest, until I finally gathered the courage to take a peek, and breathed a deep sigh of relief when I saw that it was Eames who was studying me so intently.

He moved forward and leaned against the side of the archway, smiling at me as he did, so that my heart flip-flopped about inside of my chest, and a frenzy of fluttering filled my tummy. I'd never seen eyes that smiled as much as his did, and there was so much warmth in his gaze as he looked at me, enough, in fact, that it felt like he was drawing me into his arms and holding me close every time he looked at me that way.

There was kindness in his eyes, and fondness as well, along with a generous degree of protectiveness, but there was something else that I thought I saw in his gaze as well, a hint of desire, one that darkened his eyes, and made them seem almost, well, hungry, and that was a sight, and a recognition, that made that trembling in my tummy move down, to nestle itself in-between my thighs. It was an odd sensation, to experience arousal, after that part of me had lain dormant for so many years, but it was exhilarating as well, and I wondered if he could see the proof of that in my eyes, as I looked into his.

I don't know how long we stayed that way, seconds, maybe minutes, and then he pushed away from the archway and crossed the space that lay between us, so that he could kneel beside the chair. My feet were tucked beneath me and my toes curled, then relaxed, then curled again when I saw his hand moving toward my knee. I was wearing a dress, but my legs were bare, and I felt the warmth and callouses of his palm a split-second before he touched me. I tried to stifle the answering gasp that rose in me when his hand made contact, but it wouldn't be restrained, and I worried that he might mistake the sound as one born from panic, but then I saw his smile, and I knew that he'd recognized it for what it truly was.

"You like that, don't you, my dear?" he whispered, in a tone that was sensual and beguiling, and made that aching rhythm between my legs shudder, then begin again, even stronger than it had been. "It feels good, doesn't it, Sophie?"

He caressed me with his palm, and then his fingertips, using varied strokes and patterns, and that time it was an answering whimper that refused to be ignored, and I blushed when I heard it escape my lips. "Y-yes," I stammered. "Please don't stop, Eames."

He smiled at me again, and his desire had darkened his eyes even further, so that the green seemed to have a smoky hue. "As you wish," he murmured, moving his hand, just a little, as he lowered his lips toward my knee. I watched, transfixed, as he moved closer and closer, and shivered when I felt the rush of his breath as it warmed my skin…..

A tongue moved across my cheek, one that was very long and very sticky, and I woke with a start, my hand flying to my face, as I scanned the area for the culprit who'd just woken me from a dream that was absolutely wonderful and therefore deserved to be chastised, as severely and thoroughly as possible. The curtains in the room had been drawn by me, to ensure that the sun wouldn't wake me from my nap, so it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then, once they had, I blinked several times, because I was certain that what I saw looking back at me must have been another dream.

He had the cutest little face that I had ever seen, and I giggled when I saw that he was wriggling all over, from his head, all the way back, to the tip of his tail. The sound of my laughter brought him to life even more, and he started jumping around, back and forth, and then suddenly he hopped on me and commenced swiping his tongue all over my face, which made me squeal and squirm, and generally make a fool out of myself, forgetting, for just a moment, that Eames was standing at the foot of the bed, watching us, with a big grin on his face.

"Is he really ours?" I asked breathlessly, dodging to avoid the eager and sticky tongue of the sweet little boy who was so determined to give me hundreds of doggy kisses. It occurred to me, after the words had left my mouth, that I probably should have said _mine_, because _ours_ might have sounded a little too possessive and presumptuous, but then I saw his beam grow even brighter, and I knew that I was worrying for nothing.

He nodded, and moved around the bed to sit beside me. "Do you like him, my dear?" he asked, reaching out a hand, to scratch the pup behind his big, floppy ears. "Have I done well?"

It was too dark in the bedroom for me to see his eyes clearly, but I knew, instinctively, that they would be filled with warmth and feelings that would make me blush, if I could see them, so that was exactly what I did, and I was thankful for the fact that he couldn't see me clearly either. I reached out my hand, and ran my fingertips over his hand, then joined him in giving the little guy a good scratching.

"I love him," I said, blushing even brighter when I saw, from the corner of my eye, that he was staring at me. "He looks just like Scruffy, it's like my friend has come to life, so, yes, Eames, you did very, _very_ well."

I hesitated for just a moment, and then I turned toward him and threw my arms around his neck. I oughtn't to have felt unsure about hugging him, I suppose, given that he held me in his arms each and every night, but it was a different thing altogether, to embrace him during the day, sitting up in the bed, instead of laying down in it. His arms immediately closed around me, and drew me close, and I thought that I heard him sigh, almost contentedly, and then I was sure that I heard him whisper my name, and I melted into his embrace…until the furry little cutie sharing the bed with us decided that he wanted in on the action.

Eames seemed reluctant to move away from me, but it was necessary that he do so, in order to avoid receiving a sloppy puppy kiss to the lips. "That was the deciding factor on this little guy," he said, laughing as he darted back and forth, to evade the beagle's swiping tongue, which made the baby yap excitedly and dance all over the bed. "He looked like he could be Scruffy's twin, and that made him perfect for you."

It was nice to be understood by someone, it was something that I'd never had before, a flesh and blood friend who knew me so well. "He is perfect, for both of us," I said, scooting over on the bed, so that I could lean back against his chest, while I patted the pooch's head, and traced a fingertip over his warm, silky ears. "So what shall we call him? I thought that Scruffy, Jr. might be good, but then it occurred to me that he ought to have a name that's all his own. What do you think, Eames?"

He turned his head toward me and rested his lips against my brow, hesitating, for just a moment, before he kissed me, just as he always did. "What do you think of Archie?" he asked softly, sliding his arm around my shoulders, rubbing his hand, up and down my arm, and resting his palm on my elbow. "Would that be a good name for him?"

"Hmm," I said, studying the pup, who yawned and blinked sleepily, then literally collapsed next my legs. "I think that fits him perfectly. What brought that name to your mind, if you don't mind me asking? Do you have a friend named Archie?"

He smiled and nodded, then pulled me into another hug. "You could say that, I suppose," he said, and I was sure that I heard him sigh again when I placed my hand on his chest, resting it on top of his heart. "We have a good deal of history together, Archie and I, and there are times when I don't particularly care for his company, but he's always been with me, so I suppose he is my friend, isn't he?"

Eames' POV

She almost made it to the end of _The Princess Bride_, but she was asleep when Buttercup jumped from the castle window, to land in Fezzik's massive arms. I would have expected her to make it to the end, so that she could watch the kiss between Buttercup and Westley, the one that was supposed to be so romantic, but she was snoring, very softly, on my shoulder when that magical moment occurred. Her greatest interest, it would seem, had been to stay awake just long enough to watch the fight between Inigo Montoya and Count Rugen, which contained her favorite bit of dialogue, 'I want my father back, you son of a bitch!' and then she succumbed to fatigue.

I had my feet propped on the coffee table that rested in front of the couch, and there was an empty bowl on my lap, one that had held a massive amount of perfectly buttered and salted popcorn, but we'd made it disappear during the film, with Archie's help, of course. My fingers had brushed against Sophie's frequently throughout the film, and she had blushed very prettily each and every time. It had taken me awhile to build up the pluck to hold her hand outright, but I'd finally managed, and our hands were still entwined and resting in the popcorn bowl.

Who would have ever thought that I would be in a position in my life where I would find myself hesitant to _hold hands_ with a woman? I should have moved beyond that sort of awkwardness years ago, I thought that I had left those moments far behind me, in the past, but she had shown me differently, and this wasn't the first time that she had done so either. I was a man who was happy, truth be told, I was _content_, and I felt that way because of her. What man wouldn't be made complete, if he was gazing fondly at a beautiful woman, one who was cuddled close against him, daintily wheezing in her sleep, with joined hands, resting in a bowl, and a tiny dog sprawled across their laps, half on his and half on hers? What sight could be more fulfilling than the one that I had the privilege of experiencing at that moment?

I suppose that there were men who would say that she needed to be dressed much more provocatively than she was, there were probably even those who would say that she ought to be naked, if she was going to truly be lovely and exquisite to behold, but that was because they couldn't appreciate true splendor. The way that the image of my enchanting Sophie and our little guy, Archie affected me was just further proof that I had changed, because there was a time, not too long ago, when I would have shared the opinion of those other men, but now I knew better. I suppose that I'd finally matured, because now I craved the pictures that were good for my heart, the sort that fed my soul, as opposed to those that merely fueled my libido…that, or I was just a little bit taken with the woman who was sleeping on my shoulder.

What would she do if I was to kiss her? Would we share a moment out of _Sleeping Beauty_, where she would awaken to the touch of my lips against hers, and, if that was the case, would she return the kiss to me, or would she push me away? I had a good idea that Sophie was just as fond of me as I was of her, but what if I was wrong? What if I'd only seen what I wanted to, gazing back at me from her eyes, when the truth of the matter was that she saw me as a friend, and only as a friend…damn…that would be a blow that would linger a good long while before I would recover from it, if I ever managed to overcome it, that is.

"What on earth is wrong with you?" I hissed softly, taking care not to wake Sophie, though I couldn't keep my voice low enough to ensure that I wouldn't disturb Archie, but he just arched his ears a bit, and then commenced snoring, joining his mistress, for a chorus of wheezing that was so cute it was almost ridiculous. "You're a grown man; you're not a blushing adolescent. You've navigated these waters before, so get a hold of yourself, man…blast, that's a lie, isn't it? You have been with women before, but you've never truly been intimate with any of them, and this one is completely different than they were, isn't she?"

I'd concentrated my attention on the television, and the last of the credits of the movie while I gave myself a little pep talk, so it came as surprise when I looked down and saw that Archie was watching me closely. He was lying on his back, limbs sprawled in every direction, and his tail started thumping wildly when he saw that I had noticed him. He squirmed back and forth, trying desperately to roll over, but I didn't want to take a chance on him startling Sophie, so I scratched his tummy, to distract him, until he yawned and blinked his eyes a couple of times, then promptly fell asleep once more.

I took a deep breath and gathered my courage, and then I bent my head and rested my nose against her crown, savoring the smell of her shampoo, and there I kissed her, very gently. She murmured, and tightened the grip of her hand on mine, and I took that as a sign that I ought to proceed even further. I slowly untangled my hand from hers, and placed my finger beneath her chin, using that touch to raise her head, so that I could look down at her lips. They were prettily puckered, almost as if she was waiting for me to kiss her, and she'd ceased her snoring, so I decided that I would throw all caution to the wind and touch my mouth to hers.

I'd never moved so slow in a moment like this one, but there was no way that I was going to rush into this…wait a minute. I couldn't kiss her while she was asleep. This wasn't a fairy tale, it wasn't a Disney film, it was real life, and I didn't want to take this step unless I had her acquiescence, and, even more essential than that, I wanted her to respond to me. How was I supposed to acquire any of those things while she was asleep? The solution was simple; I would just have to wake her up, wouldn't I?

"Sophie?" I called, softly, shaking her a bit, and then I called her name again, a bit louder than I had the first time, and she gradually opened her eyes. Her gaze was confused at first, and sleepy, but it grew clearer and more alert after a few moments passed by, and then it changed altogether when she saw how close I was to her, when she felt my thumb stroking her chin, and she slowly started to smile, that particular beam that never failed to take hold of me by my heart.

"Am I dreaming again?" she asked softly, hesitantly, as if she expected me to affirm that she was still asleep, and then she sighed happily when I shook my head.

"I'm happy to say that you aren't, my dear," I assured her, lowering my head, bit by bit, until our lips were a whisper away from touching. I took a deep breath, and closed my eyes, and the scant distance between us, gently settling my mouth on to hers and kissing her in a way that was almost reverent in nature, and she not only acquiesced to accept the embrace, she returned it as well, a soft and sweet caress that I felt all throughout my body.

Oh, yes…I was definitely taken with her.


End file.
